


Beginings That Feel Like Endings, and the Other Way 'Round

by apple_pi



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Hobbits, LOTR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-02
Updated: 2009-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-02 04:03:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 54,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple_pi/pseuds/apple_pi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my story of how Peregrin Took met Diamond of Long Cleeve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings That Feel Like Endings

**Author's Note:**

> This was the very first fanfiction I ever wrote. There are excursions from canon: I know the dead Men of the Battle of Bywater were buried, not cremated. And though Tolkien never mentioned such a thing, I have posited that Meriadoc and Peregrin, as the King's deputy's, formed a Guard - an expansion of the Bounders - to protect the borders of the Shire until King Elessar was able to expand his protections into the Northern Kingdom.

The Shire was, after a multitude of days and a mort of work, the Shire again. The dead of the hobbits were buried with honor, and the dead of the wicked Men were burned, stinking fires that sputtered and popped, attended by grim-faced halflings until nothing remained but ash and bone. The hobbits went home and washed the smoke smell from hair and cloth; the bones were ground and mixed with the ash, and both together were plowed into the fields. It seemed fitting that those Men should make the fields green again that they had wasted.

Samwise Gamgee married Rose Cotton after a minimum of fuss. Meriadoc Brandybuck dove back into the life of his enormous and rambling family, the prodigal son returned, covered in glory with many tales to tell and a family (well, some family members) that actually wanted to hear them. Peregrin Took went back to his rooms at Great Smials, and Frodo Baggins settled into a somewhat-solitary, scholarly life at Bag End.

Sam, Merry, and Peregrin could all see the emptiness rise up and over him sometimes; still, none of them spoke of it, either to Frodo or to one another. They thought, mostly, that it would pass off him, after a while. Pippin wasn't sure.

Pippin wasn't sure about much, on many days. He couldn't seem to settle. The Tooks were as noisy, as wild, as thieving and gay and unpredictable (by hobbit standards) as ever they had been. They wanted to welcome Peregrin back noisily and wildly. For a few weeks he stood it - sometimes he even enjoyed it. But he couldn't stay still. He twitched and fidgeted, and disappeared for days - usually trekking over the hills to Buckland. One day in early summer, soon after Sam's wedding to Rose, Pippin's father called him into the study, a comfortable wood-paneled room.

"Peregrin," said the elderly hobbit.

Pippin schooled his face to attention. "Yes, sir."

"You are not happy here," said Paladin Took. Pippin began to protest, and the Took stopped him with a raised hand. "It is as clear as the nose on... Gandalf's face," and his eyes twinkled just a tad. "You need space. You've been too far, and seen too much. You're solitary and wild by turn; you spend your days in the woods and fields, and your nights at the tavern." He paused. Pippin regarded him steadily, without shame; there was no censure in the lined face of his father. "I've received a letter from your uncle Saradoc. Apparently Merry is restless at Brandy Hall as well, and Saradoc and Esmeralda have a proposal. They'd like to know if you and Merry would care to take the house at Crickhollow. Frodo gives his consent - I'd not be surprised if it was his idea from the start." Pippin had glanced up at the word 'Crickhollow', and now smiled a little. Paladin went on: "No one is more deserving, and well we know it." Pippin shook his head and looked away now, still silent, the mobile face shuttered, lips pressed closed. "Ah, well," said his father. "True enough it is. What say you?"

Pippin drew a deep breath. "Can you spare me?" he asked, acutely aware that his father was old, and that the title of Thain would come to him someday - not, he thought ruefully, that he had been a particularly apt student for the job.

The Thain snorted, echoing his only son's thoughts. His face softened, though, as he spoke. "Certainly I can spare you - you're not ready to pay attention to what I have to teach yet, any gate. Do keep it in mind, that you cannot leave the Smials forever, but right now what you need is time, time alone or time with someone who has traveled the road with you."

"I thank you," said Pippin. "I will go and stay with Merry, and gladly - though sadly, too," he added.

His father watched the young face - wiser, quieter, drawn with unforgotten pain. "Come back for supper when you wish," said Paladin finally. "You'll be missed. I'm not banishing you, child. Just giving you what I can." Pippin looked up again, and saw understanding, and smiled and nodded a little.

So he came to his own home. Crickhollow was a snug little house, with plenty of round windows looking out over shade-dappled lawns and woods, curved walls and ceilings, spacious rooms. He and Merry chose their rooms and had new beds put in - one of the things that had itched Pippin, at least, about his return to Tuckborough was the discovery that he was now too long-limbed for his bed.

His new home in the East Farthing earned him no shortage of wry looks from his thoroughly West Farthing kin, which he gracefully ignored. He and Merry painted the door deep blue, attached a brass knocker in the shape of a great tree, and moved in. There they dwelt alone, although the nearest neighbor's son, for a small consideration, came to tend the gardens each workday, and when Pippin went roaming and Merry was at Brandy Hall the lad exercised their ponies, as well - they'd built a small stable with room for four animals atop the bank behind Crickhollow.

The furnishings were good but sparse - enough chairs to seat four or five friends, a plain, large table. The kitchen was well furnished of course - they being hobbits after all - but most of the hole echoed a bit: bare walls and shining bare floors. Sam and Frodo came to see it: Frodo smiled vaguely at it all and Sam, true to his nature, brought seedlings for the window boxes. Fredegar Bolger (Fatty once more) came along and poked Merry in the ribs at the sight of the large, soft beds.

Meriadoc and Peregrin settled into some sort of routine. Merry was often gone during the days, working with his father. Pippin saw him anew when he rode home at night: tall and lordly he seemed, smiling broadly, bright with wisdom. Merry was as quick as ever with a jest, but no longer brash and untested. He worked alongside his father in the running of the Buckland, learning his duties of husbandry and leadership aptly. Pippin learned much from him when he came home, bursting with this idea or that story - perhaps as much as he would have learned from the Thain, Pippin thought privately.

Pippin was not ready to settle to work yet - "Have you ever been?" asked Merry pointedly, but he hugged Pippin with tacit approval: permission for his wandering ways. And so during the days Pippin roamed the Shire. Through Bucklebury sometimes, placing orders for food to be delivered to Crickhollow, but mostly he tramped through the woods and the fields. He carried a small pack with food, drink, a book, and his pipe and pipeweed, with a rolled up blanket tied over it. On his waist he wore his Westernesse sword, because he felt uneasy without it. He walked silently, or he spoke to himself as he went; or he sang. When he tired of walking, he would lie on the blanket and read, and smoke, and doze. And think, and try to decide what in the world he wanted to do with himself.

There was a life planned out and waiting for him, and it was a pleasant one. He could go back to the Smials and learn (more) from the Took how to lead others. Marry a plump hobbit girl and have a dozen or so plump younglings. Lead the Guard - as he already did, jointly with Merry, but it didn't take much of their time now the routines were established - and in time become Took himself.

It was a good life, and he wanted it, sometimes almost desperately. But there was something wrong, some wall between Peregrin Took and that life, and he was waiting for a door to appear, or some foothold that would let him scramble over, and into that life.

In the evenings he found himself at _The Green Dragon_ or _The Golden Perch_, sometimes with his cousin, sometimes without. There he was Pippin again - slightly dotty, cheerful, merry. He drank ale and danced and sang, or sat and talked and listened. In a way it was restful. That Pippin was still real, but it wasn't all there was anymore. And so when the tavern closed he went home, or he went back out into the woods and tried to sleep under the stars.

His dreams were vivid. Not always bad - although often they were, and oh, he wished his memory didn't have so much bad to sort through and choose from - but always startling, and crystal clear. When he woke, it was often as though he'd worked all night - he was exhausted, his muscles trembled and ached, and, when he bothered to sleep at home, the bedclothes were tangled and twisted, or pushed to the floor in a heap.

Sometimes he woke to find Merry sitting beside him, or curled around him in the big bed - thank heavens it was wide as well as long - comforting him with words or without: with his simple, unquestioned and unquestioning presence. Only Merry would be allowed to comfort him thus - Pippin loathed the idea of anyone else hearing his nighttime demons.

Sometimes he woke to hear Merry thrashing around, trapped in his own too-real memories, and then it was Pippin who came to Merry, soothing him into safer dreams or waking him if there seemed no help for it.

They didn't speak of these nighttime terrors to one another - Pippin because he didn't want to revisit them; and he suspected Merry kept silent to protect him, as he always had. Pippin was content with that, at least for a while.

When he returned to the Buckland after three days or four of sleeping out in the fields, he saw Merry's eyes follow him with concern, but never did his cousin reproach him. Merry knew, better than any other, that Pippin needed this: needed to stare into the sky, dream his terrible dreams, escape, escape, escape.

As the months passed, Pippin wondered when his mind would heal as his body had; he was grateful, oh so grateful, to be here and alive and surrounded by those he loved, but the poison was not purged, and so Pippin endured, waiting.

~*~

Merry came into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. He squinted against the bright firelight, then ducked and threw up his hands to catch: a biscuit, thrown to him. Pippin lounged in a comfortable chair by the fire, a steaming mug of tea by one hand, a stack of cinnamony biscuits close by the other.

"What are you doing?" said Merry. "It must be -" the clock over the mantel gave its silvery chime - "three in the morning."

"My hand hurt," said Pippin. Merry noticed that his right hand, which had been crushed almost beyond repair at the battle before the Black Gate, was cradled protectively about the tea cup.

"Let me see," said Merry. He sat down across from his young cousin and took his hand. There was little sign now of the impossibly painful injuries: only a thin scar across the fleshy part of his palm, where a wound had been stitched closed. Merry began to rub Pippin's palm, slow circles to relax the stiffness that often came with a cold turn of the weather.

The wind whistled outside and both hobbits jumped at the loud bang when a shutter came loose. "I'll get it," said Pippin, and he disappeared for a minute. When he came back he poured Merry a cup of tea and handed him another biscuit, the first having disappeared in the interval. "Let's see your hand," he said, and Merry reluctantly laid his own sword-hand on the table. Pippin picked it up and examined it closely. "Can you pick this up?" he asked, placing a cookie crumb on the table.

Merry could, but it took more effort than usual to control his stiff fingers, and he swore under his breath. Pippin pursed his lips primly. "Do you remember those exercises you had to do?"

"Somewhat," muttered Merry. "It just gets numbish in the cold, you know that." It had been numbish in cold weather and warm, ever since the day Merry had thrust his sword into the flesh of the chief of the Nazgûl. The blade had burned away and Merry had nearly burned away, too, a cold fever that the healing hands of the King had only just saved him from. He had recovered most of the strength of the hand since, but just as Pippin's reset bones ached in the chill, so did Merry's hand never forget the awful shock of that sword-thrust.

"I shall remember them for you," said Pippin. "Mine gets numbish, too. We can do the exercises together."

"As always," said Merry.

"Too right."

~*~

The seasons passed: winter to spring (and Sam and Rose were delivered of a golden-haired lass) to high summer to late summer. There came a day in early October when Pippin and Merry went on a journey. Their steeds trotted and galloped, by turn, to the sea, and they came almost too late to say goodbye, but not quite - they rode up in time to embrace and be embraced, in time to watch the white ship sailing away from the Gray Havens into the brilliant yellow light of sunset on the waters, bearing away their dear friends: Frodo and Bilbo, and Gandalf the White Rider, and the Elves, Elrond and Galadriel.

The three left behind stood silent on the quay and let the murmur of the sea sink deep into their hearts as the light sank toward darkness; and when the stars pricked the sky they turned without speaking and mounted their ponies. They rode home in silence, until they came to the Shire, when they spoke again. They talked, and sang together, taking turns. Pippin began, with words they all knew, which Samwise and Meriadoc joined; but then Sam went on:

_Green was the color of the fields I walked,  
And blue the skies above me shone.  
The green hills rolled  
In gentle downs  
To the rivers in this land called home_

Fair was the sun on the silent wood,  
Brown and rich that earthy loam;  
And coming back to them  
Was the sweetest gift of all,  
So I hardly feared to leave this land called home.

I'll walk these paths in spring and fall,  
In the winter and the summer walk alone;  
Always coming back  
To the hills that I love,  
To these lands that I call home.

Now the road calls me on but my feet go slow;  
I no longer have a wish to roam.  
But far ahead  
I hear the calling of the gulls:  
I must leave this land that I called home.

At water's edge I turn to look back at the land,  
Seeking only to farewell tree and stone,  
But sadder to leave  
Is the face of a friend,  
In this land that I called home.

Pippin, looking across his pony's head at his friend in the starlight, saw a Sam that perhaps only Frodo of all the hobbits had seen clear - fair, and lit with inner light, and wise despite the outward appearance of simplicity. Although the friends traveled back, indeed, to the land they called home, Pippin wondered whether, like Legolas of the Elves, the seagulls' cries hadn't got to Sam; and _How long will it be_, Pip thought, _until Sam follows Frodo as he always does, and takes ship from the Gray Havens?_

After the song ended each went his way - Sam past Bywater toward Bag End and Rosie, and his daughter Elanor; Merry and Pippin went on over the hills on the road to Buckland. The two chose no inn by unspoken accord, and lay down beneath the sky, their horses champing nearby and the crisp night wind stirring the leaves overhead.

Pippin had no nightmares that night. He dreamed instead that he saw a far green country, and he heard the crying of gulls, and smelt the fresh sweet smell of the land, borne to him on the wind.

~*~

The winter passed, and the spring; for a while Pippin's dreams were easier, but then they worsened again. He woke often in the dead hours before dawn and lay staring at the ceiling, or (when weather permitted) at the sky. Out in the tame wilds of the Shire, when he first started from sleep with his heart pounding and his breathing quick, he worried that perhaps he had cried out in his dreams. He always thought then that, even if he had, there was no-one there to hear his cries. He did not know whether he was gladdened or made sad by that thought. At home there might be Merry or there might not; Merry spent more and more time at Brandy Hall (as he should, Pippin knew), working with his father and learning his duties as heir to the Master of Buckland.

Pippin spent more time at Great Smials as well, but he didn't sleep easily there, nor anywhere. His only respite came with Guard duty, when he could work himself hard and take the longest watches of the night, exhausting himself past dreaming. Even then the visions might visit. But when he rose from his cot the young hobbits of the Guard said naught, and though they might look at him sidelong, it could have been due to his reputation only, as an adventurer and a Lord. So he told himself, in the event.

~*~

At midsummer he exited _The Green Dragon_ into a warm and starry night and began walking. It was silent in the Shire. The watchmen knew him of course, and didn't speak to him, beyond a civil "Goodnight, sir," as he passed the boundaries of the village.

He walked and he walked and then he walked some more. Past Bag End, where one candle burned, and he thought for a moment it must be Frodo, up late writing; but then he remembered: Frodo was gone beyond recall, as surely as if he had died. Pippin wondered briefly who was up so late in that peaceful home, and walked on. Past hillsides and holes; the mill, creaking around in a steady, almost silent imitation of eternity; past fields of rapeseed, finished with their golden prime and well into green, grey in the star-filled, moonless night; past corn and wheat and barley, greens and golds muted by darkness; into deep woods where the only sounds were night sounds of rabbit and owl and stoat; and out of the woods into more fields.

He didn't wander straight, he crossed no border, he didn't stray outside the Shire. But he walked.

He walked until he stumbled with weariness. He stopped where he was, between two high rows of corn, and threw off his pack to lie down on the warm earth. He looked up between the rustling, whispering leaves of corn, into a sky so starry he could almost have read his book. He did not read. Instead he rolled over, unable to bear their bright, spangled beauty in the deep, black sky.

Now, hobbits weep easily, and without shame. But Peregrin Took's tears came hard that midsummer night, and he did not know why, nor why he should weep at all. Something was broken inside him, and it had not yet healed. Perhaps those tears began to heal him, a little, for he fell asleep there on the ground, beside his pack. His wet face pressed into the soft earth and he slept dreamlessly, for the first time in a long while.


	2. And the Other Way 'Round

Something was tickling his cheek. He slapped vaguely at it, but it kept on until he woke up further, and suddenly sat straight up, groping for his sword and blinking wildly in the hot, unmerciful midmorning sun.

"Well, well," said a sardonic voice. "This is a rather large weed that's popped up overnight." Pippin closed his eyes crossly against the sunlight, then opened them again, squinting. A foot. Two feet, bare hobbit feet; the soft hair atop them might have been what had tickled him awake, before they stepped back. And the hem of a flowered skirt.

"Tis no weed, but a starving hobbit," Pippin said sourly, and groaned his way to his feet to face the lass. _Lady_, he revised the thought, as he focused on her dress and face.

"I don't think you can be a hobbit," she said speculatively. "I have never heard such a grubby creature style itself so." She was not pretty, by their people's standards. She was small even for a small folk, for one thing, and freckled, and too thin. But her eyes were merry, and as green as the leaves of corn that rustled around them (as green as his own, had he but realised it); her smile was challenging and charming, both. A white lace cap topped her cloud of dark, curly hair, and she held a basket of weeds against one hip.

Pippin was suddenly aware of how he must look - thrusting a tear-stained face into the dirt for half the night and half the morning must leave its marks, he thought. He straightened as best as he could and looked down at her. She continued grinning up at him, and try as he might he could not think of a riposte. He settled for the high road and swept her his best bow, learned in the court of Gondor. "Peregrin Took, at your service," he said grandly, grinning up at her in his turn. He straightened once more.

"Indeed?" she said. "Diamond Greenbuckle of Long Cleeve." She curtseyed neatly. "Now, Master Took." She looked him up and down. "You are a long way from your hole. But very near to my farmhouse, and starving, by your own estimation. And dirty, by mine. So come and have a wash and a bite before you perish of hunger or dirt." She turned and began walking away.

He stood stock still for a moment. Then he jogged to catch up, slinging his pack over his shoulder. "And should a hungry hobbit trust to the cooking of so thin a lady?" he asked impertinently.

"Should such a thin guest even ask?" she replied without looking at him. He saw her lips twitch, though. Her cheeks were pink, he noticed, and her nose straight and fine beneath its dusting of freckles. He felt more cheerful than he had in ages.

Her farmhouse was small and neat, with a tidy thatched roof and window trim shining green against the soft brownish gold of the walls. A little fenced yard held flowers in wild profusion -- celestial blue morning glories running riot along the gate and fence; nasturtium, delphinium, flax, and dahlias lined the flagstone path and disappeared around one corner of the house. Two slim beech saplings reached to the sun beside the front gate posts. The drowsy sound of bees in the hot sun accompanied them to the door. The windows of her house were round, as proper hobbit windows should be, with window boxes of more morning glories - white and purple, here - asters, and daisies. The door was not round, but had a curving arch at the top, with a window set in - the glass was missing, so the house looked like a child with a missing tooth.

"You've forgotten a bit of your door," Pippin said as she unlocked it - a sad but commonplace precaution since the Disturbances.

"Those scoundrelly wicked pox-marked sons of pigs broke it, drat their souls to the furthest reaches of darkness," she said calmly. He knew she meant the Men who had been vanquished more than two years ago. "For a long while I'd not a farthing to replace it, and then when I did it took quite a while to find someone to do it. I've had a board over it, but the glazier has finally finished, and he's due to come today." She led him into a trim little room. Shining floors were dotted with jewel-colored rugs, and delicate lace hung at the windows. Flowers were everywhere, in vases, bowls, and cups; through a side window he could see an enormous and brilliant garden. A small loom stood beside the largest window, gleaming wood and taut cords quiet in the sun.

"Why has the glass taken so long?" he asked idly, picking up a smooth, polished stone from a little bowl on a small occasional table.

"It's a special window, with etching in it," she replied. "The thief has gotten it wrong twice, and tried to force me to take his mistakes." He heard her sniff, as if to emphasize how unlikely this was. She passed into a hallway, then put her head back into the main room. "Are you coming?"

Somehow he found himself alone in her bathing room. As he stripped and slowly eased into a truly enormous tub of fragrant, scalding water, he thought about his hostess. Whatever the wicked pox-marked sons of pigs had done to her door, it did not appear to have injured her self-reliance, or her trusting nature.

He fell asleep in the tub.

When he woke the water was barely warm and the delicious smell of cooking mutton beckoned. He climbed from the tub and dried himself hurriedly, sniffing his clothes and hoping they didn't give off too great a pong. He paused before opening the door - whatever would he say when she asked him why he was sleeping in her fields? No answer came to him as he stood there; his stomach gave an urgent growl. He shook himself. He would think of something. And he was hungry.

The kitchen table was set with enough food for a large family of Men - or two hungry hobbits. She sat opposite him, with her back to the window, and they set to with a minimum of talk - that was hobbit courtesy.

Once his first appetite was sated, Pippin slowed. He had been remarkably hungry. "You are an excellent cook, Mistress Greenbuckle," he said. "My apologies for any stupid assumption I may have mistakenly come to."

She brushed a crumb from her lap. "Think nothing of it," she replied. "We are mostly small folk, in my family, and generally thin." She looked measuringly at him. "And you are very tall. Why, you must be able to ride a horse. The blood of Brandobas Took, come back again?"

"Actually I was quite average until fairly recently," Pippin admitted with a smile. "But how do you know so much about me?"

She raised her green eyes to heaven. "Well, first of all, we're cousins of a sort -- my mother was a North-Took. And secondly, of course, you are Peregrin Took," her voice was slightly mocking, "Captain of the Guard, returned from who-knows-what scandalous adventures in far lands. One of the saviours of the Shire." With that phrase her voice became decidedly bitter, and her mocking smile twisted a little as she looked away from him.

Pippin could find no reply for her bitterness, and sat looking at her, his mouth open a little in surprise, eyes wide. She sat still, too, her gaze somewhere beyond him, beyond the walls of her neat home. Suddenly her eyes focused again, and snapped onto his pale face. "Oh, go on," she said sharply, and seemed balanced on a knife's edge between tears and laughter. A strangled laugh won. "Do please stop looking at me like a wounded rabbit. If I'm bitter it's nothing to do with you."

She reached for the teapot and lifted it with a hand that trembled just slightly; Pippin moved to support her hands without thinking about it. His eyes never left her face, her downcast lashes black against her white cheeks. "Why are you bitter, then?"

"An old wound," she said. "Healing well, but not quite scarred over." She stirred her tea and visibly calmed herself. "You see," she said, looking up at last, "you and your friends arrived a little too late for me and my husband. He died, you know. Those evil Men killed him."

Pippin winced. "Oh, my lady!" His expressive face twisted a little in sympathy. "I am sorry."

She made a small sound of dismissal. "It was before you all ever came back. He was one of those they imprisoned. It was near three years ago, now. I only wish he had been here to help rid the Shire of those milk-livered rats-bane slanderous scurvy-ridden vermin."

Pippin looked away, out at the flowers, bright in the hot sunshine. "So do I," he said. "I've no doubt he would have helped greatly."

"Well," she said. "Well. We all did a good deal better than some might have expected, when it came to it. And don't call me _my lady_ again," she added; he swung his eyes back to her, surprised. "Call me Diamond, as we are cousins. And tell me how you came to be blessed with a late spurt of growth, Mister Peregrin."

"Pippin," he corrected her. "Well, how we got there is a long tale, but one night my friend Meriadoc Brandybuck and I found ourselves standing on a hillside in Fangorn Forest..."

She never did ask him how he had come to sleep in her cornfield.

~*~

Thus began a strange friendship. Pippin found himself drawn back again and again to Sprite Hollow. That was the name of Diamond Greenbuckle's little farm; the etched glass in the door, when it came, showed a tiny faery, wings and all.

"Why a faery?" Pippin asked once.

"Have you forgotten that we Tooks are said to be fey?" She smiled and relented. "Nonsense, of course. But we North-Tooks are small, and skinny. Always have been." She shrugged.

"Delicate," Pippin wanted to correct her. "Slim." But he just shrugged back, and smiled. He could hardly tell her what he thought of her, when he didn't quite know himself. Gossiping tongues said he courted her, and truly enough, he often turned his feet toward her fields, or guided his pony up the north road from the center of the Shire. But when Merry asked, he denied it. "She's an interesting lady," was all he would say. "And a better cook than me or you."

He almost did want to court her - he was regularly stirred by her engaging grin, light step, and slim waist. In his most private thoughts he considered her balanced perfectly between hobbit and Elf: small, earthy, and pragmatic, with a tongue that could strip the varnish from a table; yet light, slender, and wise, with deep-seeing green eyes that knew more than they said.

Beyond the charms of her physiognomy - which for Peregrin Took, at least, were powerful - he felt in her some recognition, some sense of familiarity. She had been through her own fire, survived her own battles. She had come through them more certain of herself than any female, and many males, he had ever met.

He still struggled to know himself, but with her, all his facets - silly, gallant, thoughtful, silent, sad, merry - were allowed free reign. The only others he felt so free with were the remnants of the Fellowship. But they were sometimes scarce - Sam's family was growing, and they'd moved into Bag End with Frodo even before he left (and Frodo himself, had he been there, would likely have been writing and writing and writing, as though all the ink in the world would dry up at any moment). There was always - would always be - Merry, but even he was hesitantly wooing Estella Bolger, Fatty's (much prettier but very plump) younger sister.

And of course Diamond had something none of the members of the Fellowship had: that indefinable spark, that purely alien and purely feminine perspective that so often left Pippin blinking or irritated or entranced. He was astonished by the things she treasured, which he overlooked; and by the beliefs he cherished, which she dismissed, often impatiently.

Pippin might go weeks without seeing Diamond, but never did more than a month pass without his presence at her table. He brought her gifts, of course - mushrooms and herbs and other odd things; and he invited her (although she did not come) to his thirty-second birthday party. (It was a grand supper given at Crickhollow, "to celebrate your last irresponsible year in your tweens," said Fatty extravagantly, deep in his cups late that night; "Last year in his tweens, yes," muttered Merry, and Pippin cuffed him on the ear.) He found Diamond refreshing, bracing, and even comforting, when her barriers fell.

For she did have barriers - as surely as he did, he thought to himself wryly. Sometimes she was almost cold to him, for no reason that he could understand - it did not depend on the regularity of his visits, or the quality of his gifts, or even upon his mood, for she seemed undismayed when he was sad, silent, or distant. He simply could not predict her, and when he mentioned this in passing to Merry, his cousin sat down, he laughed so hard. "Predict a _lass?_" he howled, and Pippin scowled and let it be. For the most part Diamond was excellent company: witty and sharp and always, always there was that difference, that spark.

Pippin wondered, as he rode away from Sprite Hollow one day, how Diamond Greenbuckle and Eowyn Eorlingas of Rohan would get on. "Like fire in dry tinder," he thought wryly, and then giggled half his way home at the thought of them together: the tall, icy shield-maiden bending down to gossip with the merry, freckled hobbit-lass: unequal in stature, parallel in pride and certainty.

Some fear held Pippin back from open courtship, though. Fear of failure, fear of rejection, fear of baring himself to her. In some ways she was closed, locked against the eyes of the world as tightly as ever the gates of Moria were barricaded: blocked by the tumbledown rubble of her three years alone.

~*~

Pippin's dreams continued, and he despaired of sleeping two nights without waking; his days improved, however, and he might spend as much as a month at Great Smials working with his father before the restlessness took hold again and he had to escape: back to Crickhollow, back to the woods and fields. Young Captain Peregrin was a familiar figure throughout the Shire: a tall hobbit wearing a sword, roaming the back roads and paths, solitary but unfailingly courteous to those he met. And so another year passed.

~*~

He came to Diamond's farm on the chilly, sunny day when she harvested her small cornfield, and helped as of right. He caught her speculative eye on him more than once, and wished he did not look so draggled and dusty by the end of the day. But she sent him into the bathing room with a little shove, and smiled a little to herself as she cooked and listened to him sing Bilbo Baggins's "Hot Water Song." He came out clean, in his dusty clothes, and they sat at the table together in the gathering dusk.

"Why did you come today?" she asked as they finished. She leaned over and lit a taper at the fireplace, then set the lamp alight. Pippin's view of the darkling garden through the window vanished, replaced by a reflection of the room they sat in: his own pale face, and Diamond's straight slim back and soft, curly dark hair, capless now in her home.

"I know that you had little close family to come and help," he said. "So I came."

"I should pay you for your day's labour," she said.

"You have indeed," Pippin replied. "You've feasted me tonight, and through many another meal. I only came to help harvest what I later hope to eat." He grinned.

"Ah, you are a wicked creature, Peregrin Took," she said. "If that is the payment you ask, then that is the payment you shall receive." But her smile was strained, and he cursed himself for overstaying his welcome.

"Let me do the washing up," he offered, and jumped up. She sat staring, bemused or outraged, he knew not which, as he gathered the plates and bowls, cups and knives, and trotted them into the kitchen.

She was too tired to protest, so she shrugged and sat at the table, gazing into the fire and thinking her private thoughts. In the kitchen there were clinkings and clankings and splashings (but thankfully no crashings of broken crockery), and the high, sweet voice of Pippin, singing to himself:

_Harvest comes to my home:  
Golden, green, and red.  
I have worked all the day;  
Now I'm called to bed._

Weary hands and aching back;  
Water soothes and then I'm fed.  
Quiet conversation, smiles;  
Then I'm called to bed.

Fallow fields will rest by night,  
Sun has fin'ly fled;  
I will rest my spent head, too:  
Now I'm called to bed.

After a while he came out, rolling his sleeves down. "That'll save you a bit of work," he said, sitting down on the edge of his chair across from her. "So. Any more to harvest tomorrow?"

She shook herself. "No, no. I thought it would take me two days to finish the field, it's just a little small one, but..." She shrugged and one corner of her mouth curved up. "Twice the hands make half the work. Tomorrow I shall sleep in, then drive the corn to the mill with Farmer Bole's rig. I'll save a bit, for the chickens and next year's seed. But most I shall grind and sell."

"That sounds perfect." He smiled brightly. "I'll just leave you to your sleep then, shall I?" He stood up.

She stayed seated, looking up at him. Her expression was odd, still strained, and her face was white, the freckles standing out against the milk-pale skin. "Wait," she said.

"Yes?" said Pippin.

"Do you... must you go?" Her eyes were hooded, but her gaze was fixed on his face.

He stood where he was, and put his hands on the back of his chair, as if to steady himself. He kept his voice light. "No, of course not," he said. "I could stay forever, if you'd like." He smiled, offering to let her make a joke of it if she would.

She didn't laugh, but she looked away, blushing, a slow crimson stain that rose up her chest to heat her face. "Well," she said. She looked back at him, a measuring, humorous glint in her green eyes. _Green as leaves, green as grass, green as the deep waters of the river_, he thought, somewhere away beneath his terror and delight. "Well," she said again. "I don't know much about forever. But tonight will do, for starters."


	3. Bad Dreams

Outwardly nothing changed. Pippin visited her house as he had before - with irregular regularity, showing up and helping where he could and where she would allow him. He milked her two goats (after she instructed him in the proper technique, with a certain amount of sharp correction and at least one equally sharp hoof to the hams), and helped her prepare the small field and her garden for the winter's fallow rest. Sometimes he left her and wandered in the woods that bordered her land, looking for mushrooms, herbs or roots.

Pippin turned thirty-three, the age at which hobbits are expected to buckle down to the serious work of life: farming, or craftsmanship, or leadership. Other than an intensely painful head the morning after the party Merry threw for him, Pippin did not feel he had gained (or lost) anything with the birthday. For a few weeks he looked surreptitiously for hidden expectations when talking to his father, to Merry, to others; but he could find no sign that he must suddenly give up the wandering habits that were now second nature to him. He shrugged to himself and decided not to question his luck, and continued in his rounds of Great Smials, Guardhouses, and Crickhollow, with visits to Sprite Hollow as often as he could manage.

As the weather grew chilly and then cold, Diamond's outdoor work lessened, as did his with his father and the Guard -- everyone rested when winter came. The fields lay snug under their light dusting of snow, or turned to muddy swamps under cold, icy rain. When Pippin came to see her now, he rode his pony, and quartered the mare in the small shed with Diamond's goats and hens. The shed shared the oven wall of her kitchen; it stayed warm with the heat from the oven and the animals' own fragrant warmth.

People and animals stayed indoors; Diamond had no dogs, but one day just before the weather turned cold, Pippin brought her a cat from Took Bank, a half-grown, adolescent thing, rangy and energetic. He cut a small hatch into her kitchen door and hung a heavy flap of felt over it, so the creature could go in and out as it pleased. It spent some time in her lap, and some time curled up in the straw of the shed with the goats.

Diamond settled to her real work, the work which paid for her seed and the food and goods she could not grow or make herself - that of weaving. First she had to spin the goats' fleecy hair into thread, a process which the cat (which Pippin named Gimli - a joke the Dwarf would certainly not have appreciated) was hypnotized by. Gimli loved the spinning wheel, and sat erect for hours, staring at the blur of the spokes.

There was no-one within seeing to gossip when Pippin rode away late in the evening, or in the middle of the night, or at dawn. With Diamond there were new things - so many new things that he was astonished, delighted, driven to distraction - but she was still herself: complete and whole and independent as an Elf, as a queen, as a cat. He came to see her as often as he dared, as often as his heart would allow.

Merry made no judgment and asked no questions. He was simply there, when Pippin came home. Pip never spoke much about Diamond - he couldn't, as he'd no idea what to say, how to define her, why she welcomed him delightedly on some days and was slow to warm on others. Diamond had no definition, beyond her name. She simply was. She never spoke of the future, which frightened him. He didn't know what she wanted; didn't know what he wanted, beyond this delirious present moment; and he was afraid to question her.

Pippin did not - quite - give up his roaming of the fields and byways of the Shire. Even when the weather was at its worst he had days when the walls of his rooms seemed to close in and he had to escape. It was true that the tramping about was much less pleasant. Often and often he came home to Crickhollow and Merry's welcoming arms and frowning face and swore to stop. Often and often he appeared on Diamond's doorstep, shivering, soaked; and swore to stop.

For herself, Diamond never said much about it. She never clucked her tongue, or shook her head, or told him he would catch his death of cold. She might make a pointed remark about how even the cat had the sense to stay indoors in some weathers. She might raise her eyes to the heavens, even. But she did not ask him why. She did not tell him to stop, and although her voice might be sharp, her hands were always gentle when she chivvied him inside. Her hands were gentle when she pushed him into the bathing room, and when she reached out to him after a good meal together, her hands were gentle.

~*~

"I have never seen your home," she said one morning, looking out at the brief light of the day. They were sitting in her living room. Gimli was curled in Pippin's lap; the earth outside was bare underneath a bitterly cold, grey sky. Pippin had ridden across the iron-hard fields, and through the band of woods, across the small dip where normally a stream gurgled; today it had been frozen to silence in the half-light of the icy day.

"I invited you there at least once," he said. He stroked the cat and looked outside. "I wonder if it will snow."

"It's too cold," she said absently. Her hands were busy with yarn, her lap overflowing with it. She sat at her small hand loom, weaving one of the little jewel-colored rugs: her main craft. Gimli was not allowed near the yarn, but he watched it alertly from Peregrin's lap.

"Yes, I suppose," Pippin replied. He was staring vacantly at the pale, hard day, absent-mindedly petting Gimli. She had stopped her work and was looking at him, some irritation on her thin face. "What?" he asked, noticing and meeting her eyes.

"Take me to your house," she said.

"Right now?" he asked. His hand stopped and Gimli nudged it with his head.

"Right now," she replied. She stood up, the yarn sliding onto the floor in a bright puddle of color. "I am sick of being mewed up - ill with this house, these things, these same four walls!"

Pippin gazed up at her. "Well, now that I can certainly understand," he said. He stood up, cradling Gimli in his arms. "We can do that. My pony can carry us both. But what about your animals? What about the dwarfling here?" (Oh, how Gimli the Dwarf would have fumed had he heard. Pippin smiled inwardly.)

"What about them? I'll put out enough food for an extra day for that one, he'll be fine. The goats... We can stop at Farmer Bole's house and I'll ask his oldest son to check on them tomorrow. They'll be fine. I won't be moving in to live with you, Pippin." She looked faintly scandalised at the thought and Pippin raised an eyebrow.

"Indeed," he said. He put Gimli down on the chair. "I'll go and get Surefoot ready." He stepped out the back door, wondering what Merry would say. There was a spare bedroom, and no question that it was fit for company - any of a multitude of cousins or nephews might appear, and there was always Fredegar Bolger or Berilac Brandybuck to consider: either might imbibe freely at Crickhollow and require a room to sleep off their excesses. But neither Merry nor Pippin had ever considered inviting a lass to stay, much less a lady. Well. There were no neighbors within sight, and _No sense worrying about the egg before it's hatched_, thought Pippin as he laid the saddle blanket across Surefoot's withers.

~*~

Diamond was warm enough, certainly: the warmth of the pony's broad back beneath her, Pippin's arms and cloak wrapped round her in addition to her own warm cloak and clothes. Only her nose and feet (though encased in soft felt boots and thick knitted socks) were cold. She rode erect, her head beneath Pippin's chin, gazing about herself. She had never ridden before, she'd told him as they stood in the shed beside the saddled pony.

"Oh really?" said Pippin. "Well, Surefoot's a trusty lass, calm as a well-fed Bolger. She'll ease you into it."

And she did. Diamond looked alertly about as they traveled. The trees were bare and she could see further through the woods than usual; the land sloped away, brown and fallow. Surefoot's hooves made little sound on the carpet of fallen leaves, and the journey was slightly otherworldly.

"What will you tell Farmer Bole?" asked Pippin as they turned down the path to his gate.

"That I am going to visit a Took cousin, of course."

"True enough," said Pippin. "I'll just wait here, shall I?" He helped her slide off the mare's back.

"Yes, that would be best, I suppose."

She was back in a few moments. "Everything taken care of?" asked Pippin, dismounting to help her up.

"Yes," she said, but was otherwise - uncharacteristically - silent. He heaved himself back into the saddle behind her. Pippin chattered for a few minutes, then felt her silence reach out to embrace him, and, with an effort, stopped himself. He couldn't see her face, of course, but he'd some glimmer, some faint fleeting impression of distance or anger when she first walked out of Farmer Bole's house, and whatever it was, she would tell him when she was ready. Or she wouldn't.

He settled himself to the short journey. He had never become truly comfortable with horses, but use had accustomed him to them, and this mare, bought the year before, was gentle and quiet, with a kind eye. He let her choose her pace, a steady, rocking-horse canter alternating with a fast walk, and kept his arms securely about Diamond for the three hours it took to cross the Brandywine and reach Crickhollow.

Merry was not there. Pippin saw a piece of paper flutter on the door: a note from his cousin, that he was leaving for Brandy Hall for a few days to help with something illegible - storage perhaps? Pippin turned to tell Diamond and saw a spasm of emotion flee across her face. Disappointment? Relief? It vanished and her usual stoic expression reappeared, with a decent cover of "what a shame."

The house was dim and chill, and Pippin felt unaccountably embarrassed for the bare walls, the bare floors. At least it was clean. "Well, here it is, in all its glory," he said theatrically. Diamond looked about, standing in the doorway.

"I'll get a fire going while you put the pony away," was her only reply. She did turn and lay a hand on Surefoot's chestnut shoulder. "Thank you," she said to the mare, and then turned back to the house. She disappeared inside, and Pippin, with unease in his heart, led the pony around to the small stable atop the bluff behind the house.

It took him some time to get Surefoot bedded down - her stall was clean and ready, but she had to be rubbed down. Before he even unsaddled her he lit the coals in the tiny ceramic brazier - it was bitterly cold, and he chafed his hands together as the heater began to work. It was a special thing, designed so there was no danger of fire here, in this most tinder-rich of buildings.

He left Surefoot at last, warm and fed and watered - thank goodness for pumps, and water far beneath the ground that didn't freeze, he thought, trotting down the steep steps cut into the hill. The sight of his kitchen door brought back the momentary unease he had felt. Why had Diamond been so silent? Sure, she was quiet sometimes - and never a talkative, chattering thing. But there had been something in her face when she came out of Farmer Bole's house, and then that odd expression...

When he opened the door, he was greeted by a crackling fire and two glowing lamps. Warmth was spreading quickly, and Diamond stood looking at his larder. "Well, you've enough food for a good while," she said approvingly.

"You don't feed me _that_ often," he reminded her. "Sometimes I eat at Great Smials, or with the Guard, but generally Merry and I take our meals here. And now that you are in my home, you'll have to submit to my cooking."

"Should such a hungry hobbit trust such a thin cook?" she quipped, looking over her shoulder at him, one eyebrow cocked.

"Not in the least," he said, reaching out to her.

She turned into his arms, returning his kiss and banishing his unease, then sighed, and smiled. "I'm hungry now," she said. "First," holding up her hands to forestall the glint in his eye, "for food."

~*~

Hobbits are not lustful creatures, as Men might be named. Like their courage, their passion is slow to kindle, a private matter of husband to wife, lover to lover. They are a faithful people. Like their courage, the passion of the halflings is powerful once aroused, and their marriages last. They are bound by affection, by habit, by custom, and also - and not least - by touch.

There was no mention of the spare bedroom. Pippin thought in passing that it was, perhaps, the first time he had ever been glad not to see his cousin. He stifled his giggle over this in Diamond's hair, and soon forgot about Merry altogether.

Diamond fell asleep in his bed there, late that night. Pippin got up to tend to the fire - wishing fervently for a few of her soft warm rugs as he skipped across the icy floor - and then climbed back under the covers, curling up against her and trying to keep his frozen feet from brushing against her warm ones. Outside the shutters he could hear the wind change suddenly, and he dozed off with Diamond's soft black hair against his shoulder and a fitful moaning in his ears.

~*~

He woke deep in the night - he was being held down and he struggled against the hands, fighting wildly until he heard a familiar voice and came to himself, the bedclothes knotted around him, Diamond sitting up and away from him, her hands half up as though to ward him off.

He was breathing hard.

"Pippin," she said, almost a question; she lowered her hands and leaned forward cautiously, trying to look into his eyes. "Are you awake now?" The room was dim, the only light an orange glow from the banked coals in the grate. The sound of the wind was still there, a low background susurrus outside the chilly room.

He sat up slowly, his breath coming slower, and didn't look her in the eye. "I'm sorry," he said blearily. He began unwinding the bedclothes from himself. "Bad dream."

"I suppose _so_," she said quietly. She reached out and pushed the sweaty curls from his face. He froze in place and endured it, and she stopped. "Would you like a glass of water? I'm going to get one," she said.

"Yes, then... Thank you." Pippin cursed his churlish-sounding voice and while she was gone he clambered out of the high bed and re-ordered the sheets. Last of all he flung the heavy feather-stuffed bolster over it and climbed back in, completely awake now and embarrassed, awkward, ashamed.

Diamond came back with the glass of water. She set it on the table beside the bed and then crossed to the window. Pippin took a sip, put down the glass; watched her move: a slender shadow in the dark room. "The weather's changed," she said. She opened the shutters and he saw her silhouetted against the night outside the glass. "Ahhhh," came her soft sigh. "It's snowing, snowing like mad, like plucking six geese at once," she said. Then she shivered and closed the shutters with a bang, hooked them and galloped back to vault into the bed with an agility that startled a laugh out of Pippin, all against his will. She burrowed under the covers completely and curled into his body.

"Your feet!" he exclaimed.

"Are they cold?" she asked, pursuing his legs around the bed until they were tangled up in a laughing heap, both of them warm, furry feet and all. Only the tops of their heads showed above the thick quilts, and beneath the covers they looked at each other in the near-darkness.

She reached out to touch him again, to smooth the hair from his forehead. He looked steadily at her: her eyes a dark glimmer, face perfectly calm, unreadable - unreachable. "That's better," she said, watching him watch her.

"I am... at a loss," he said. He felt as though he should explain himself. "I don't usually sleep much at your house," he blushed, "so I've never had one of those dreams there, but they do come. Ever since... everything. Since before I came home."

"Sure, and it's to be expected," she said. "I have had my share, and I've seen nothing... nothing like what you saw."

"It is frightening," he agreed, there in the warm safe darkness with her looking back at him. She dropped her hand from his hair and he clasped it against his chest, twined in his two hands. "There's so much evil in the world - in Men's hearts, and maybe Elves, and even wizards, and even hobbits." He thought of Gríma Wormtongue, and of the end of Saruman, the bright red blood spilling onto the sandy earth right there in the Shire, just a few miles away.

"What are you thinking of?" she said. He told her, and she nodded, a movement of the covers.

"Afterward, you know," she said hesitantly. "After the battle, I tended the fires. The ones where they burned the dead." Her voice was flat, even. "I thought during the fighting that I wished I were a lad, I wished I could use a knife to hew down those Men that put my Will into the Lockholes, four years ago and more. I would have shot them down with great satisfaction." Pippin shivered a little at the sincerity in her voice. She stopped. "But then I tended those fires. They stunk, you know." He nodded in his turn; he did know. "They crackled awfully, and they smelled so bad, of flesh and singed hair and bone..."

Her voice trailed off for a moment. He moved a little, tightened his hands on hers, to comfort her perhaps? but she went on. "And then for a little while I thought, 'No, I don't want to do it,' I am glad I did not have the responsibility of it - to take those lives, to turn some mother's child into something to be rendered down, like mere meat. But later still... I thought, 'But I could have done it.' Had they needed more hands to hold a spear, or to draw a bow, I could have done it. And would have, and shuddered and been sick maybe, but I could have done it."

She paused again and they lay together, eyes open in the dimness, regarding one another. "There's some myth, you know, that lasses and ladies can't do things like that. That we are weak, delicate. And sometimes I live that myth, sometimes I use it. But it's a lie, is all. It's not true. We have all the capability for violence, for wildness, that men have. We are just... accustomed to hiding it. Even from ourselves."

Pippin nodded. "Yes, I know that is true. Out there - " and his voice meant, Out There, in the Big World of Men and Elves and Dwarves - "out there, hobbits are like lasses. We are so much smaller than everyone else, even than Dwarves! And so the big people look at us and think, 'Oh, harmless little halfling, no use for anything but a jest and a tale.' And that's the way we like it, I think - hobbits in general, you see. But when we have to, we can. Lads and lasses, gammers and gaffers, all of us. We can do what's needed." He sighed. "I hope I only did what was needed." He closed his eyes. "I didn't like any of it - it was all too large and too frightening and too noisy and too quick."

She lay still, regarding his shadowy face. "What was the most frightening thing you saw?" she asked quietly, impulsively.

He was silent for a few moments, long enough with his lashes lowered that she thought with relief that he hadn't heard her, that he had drifted back to sleep. His hands loosened on hers, but didn't release it completely.

Then he spoke, very softly, his eyes still closed. "In Rohan," he said. "It was after Isengard fell to Treebeard and the Ents. When Gandalf was speaking to Saruman, locked up there in his tower, Wormtongue threw something at him, a stone. I fetched it out of the water and then Gandalf took it from me - quickly, very quickly, but not before I had seen... something. Something in the stone - it wasn't ordinary, not a building block or a bit of masonry. It was round and smooth and dark. Special. That night while everyone was sleeping I decided I wanted to look at the stone again -" and now his voice was distinctly bitter, mocking his younger self - "and so I filched it from Gandalf while he slept.

"I took it off to the side and sat down to look at it in the starlight, hunched over it like an idiot child with a stolen sweet..." His voice trailed off, and in the silence she could hear the wind, and the occasional hiss of snow against the window. Finally he spoke again. Still he did not open his eyes. "I saw the Enemy in the stone. Or rather, the Enemy saw me. It was a palantír, one of the lost seeing stones used in the ancient days. And Sauron," he drew a ragged breath at the name, coming from his own mouth, "Sauron had the other one, and so when I looked into it he saw me. He saw me and he... he gloated. He thought I had been captured by Saruman and forced to look into the stone. He didn't know Saruman was trapped in Orthanc."

Pippin stopped, and Diamond could feel how rigid his body was, although his hands remained loose upon hers. She cursed herself for asking such a half-witted question, and opened her mouth to stop him... just as he opened his eyes and looked into hers and went on. "It was terrible, the worst thing I ever saw. The worst thing I _will_ ever see, because nothing could be worse and leave me alive and sane. Barely sane," he said, and unbelievably she saw his teeth glimmer in a half-smile. It disappeared as he finished. "What I saw in the stone that night... Everything after it was understandable. All the evil, all the pain and senselessness, the violence. With that mind behind it, that mind that held mine for those few moments, nothing made sense except senselessness. And everything I saw after that - battles, madness, illness, death - it was all just a little less frightening because of what... grasped me for those few moments. Because I knew nothing could be worse, you see."

"Ah, Peregrin Took," she said after a long silence. She took her hand from his and pulled his whole self to her. She felt his body relax a little, fitting itself against hers in their cocoon of blankets. "Pippin." She nestled his head into the space between her neck and breast and held him there, stroking his hair. He lay still, letting himself go boneless, tension draining away in the soft sweet smell of her body, the feel of her hands in his hair.

"So a few bad dreams..." he murmured after a while. "Well, I think I got off lightly, really." He thought of Frodo, and hoped that his friend could find solace. If what he had seen left him with such marks, what must Frodo Baggins's soul look like? But the thought went slipping away into drowsiness as Diamond's slim fingers pushed again and again through his curls, and soon it was lost as he fell deeply asleep.

~*~

When he woke again, white light was leaking through the cracks in the shutters. Diamond slept beside him, a light weight beneath the quilts, curled away from him. He uncovered himself carefully and padded to the window. He unhooked the shutters and opened them, then stood staring, mouth open slightly. He heard a rustling sound behind him and then Diamond was standing beside him, wrapped in the quilt, dark curls wild around her sleepy face.

"Oh, my," she said inadequately, her sleep-heavy eyes widening.

"Well," he said, turning to whirl her about, quilt and all. "I think you will be putting up with my cooking for a day or so more, at least."

"Speaking of cooking... I am starved," she said as he set her down. Taking one last look out at the whirling snow, she closed the shutters. "Come on," she said, "Time to show off your bachelor cooking skills once more."

They spent the day keeping warm in one way or another, and talking. Pippin had told her tales before, but only the public ones. Now his tongue was loosened and he told her more, and more deeply: humorous and harrowing by turn, or eerie, as when he spoke of the long dark of Moria, or the set-apart-from-time time in Lothlórien.

He talked about Strider, Aragorn, Elessar the King, and Diamond looked at Pippin speculatively, sitting at the kitchen table across from her, a fire roaring in the hearth, chill draughts creeping along the floor past their bare feet -- how could a hobbit know the returned King? How was it possible? But doubtless he did -- she thought about when he and Frodo and Sam had returned. She had seen him then, a splendid tall figure in armor with a white tree upon it, the Tree of Gondor, they said.

She asked him about it, and he told her of Beregond and his son, who had been kind to him, and of how at the very end, before the Black Gate, he had seen Beregond fall beside him, and used his sword to stab at an enormous hill troll, and then fallen himself, crushed beneath its unbearable bulk.

"I thought I was for it, then," he said. "And I heard someone calling out that the Eagles were coming, but I thought my mind was playing a trick and remembering Mr. Bilbo's tale. Then... nothing, until I woke up later, much bruised and battered about, I can assure you." His voice was light but the vivid shadow of remembered pain drew lines upon his face for a moment. He shook himself: "It was Gimli who saved me that day - saw a hairy hobbit's foot and pried that great monster off me, for all that it was four times his size," and Pippin smiled to think of it. "So I made it through, and so did Beregond, as I found out later."

"I wish I could meet them all," said Diamond suddenly, watching his face in the silvery snow light from the window. "The King, and the Elves, and a Dwarf or two. Men - decent Men. Even your friend Meriadoc, you know - I know who he is, of course, but don't know him, although I suppose he and I are related in about the same degree that you and I are. My old gammer would know, to the last drop of blood. Although I'm sure that Brandybuck blood is just as disreputable as Took blood, in her estimation." She grinned at him.

"Well, I can't do much about the King - I hear he's busy, these days. But Merry I can certainly see that you know, that's easily done - would be already done, but for chance."

"Yes, that's true," she said. She smiled a little, to herself.

"What?" he asked.

"I don't know if I was more relieved or disappointed that he was not here when we arrived yesterday," she said. It was an unusual statement from Diamond, who so rarely revealed her more private feelings.

"I wondered," Pippin said. "Why would you worry about meeting Merry?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You love him so much," she said. "I am anxious that your closest friend should like me, as another friend."

"Have no fear for that," said Pippin. "You're quite up to Merry's standards." He sat back and looked at her. "And how would I introduce you to him, Mistress Greenbuckle?" he asked. "Perhaps I should have asked yesterday."

"Well, it isn't as though everyone doesn't already make their assumptions," she replied sharply.

He straightened, and reached to take her hand across the table. "What does that mean?" he asked. He knew what Merry and Sam assumed - that he courted her, that he was smitten. As he was, he admitted to himself for the first time, with a pang. But what had called forth that tone?

"Farmer Bole and his wife said enough," she snapped. "When I went in to ask their help. Of course they said yes, and I know the animals will be looked after," she added. "But Ruby Bole made a comment about family ties, and what an advantageous match it would be, for a widow like me to marry someone so grand." She pulled her hand from his abruptly and stood up, turning her back to him and facing the fire.

Pippin stared at her and then began to laugh. She whirled to stare at him but he could not stop himself - he laughed almost soundlessly, pointing at her outraged expression and then waving his hands in the air. "Oh," he gasped at last, "Oh, can't you see it?" He managed to calm himself. "You, as a fortune-hunter?" He closed his eyes and lay his head on the table, shoulders shaking. "It's just too funny!"

"Peregrin Took!" she exclaimed, but her lips twitched. "It is not humorous!" She sat down again, though, and a smile stole across her freckled face. "Well, maybe. Me, an avaricious grasping greedy hobbit-hungry proverbial widow, setting out to capture the young lord Took, the hero brave and true, Captain of the Guard, heir to the Thain..." She chuckled. "Yes, it is a little funny."

He lifted his head and wiped his eyes, grinning. "They don't know you very well, my lady," he said.

"And I suppose you think you do?" she flared, but the smile was still there beneath the flame.

"Well enough for now," he said, and reached out to take her hands again. "Well enough for the moment. For the future... Well, I don't read the future." He was still smiling at her.

She cocked her head. "So you will introduce me to Mister Meriadoc?"

"Only if you call him Merry," Pippin said.

"Consider it done," she said, and squeezed his hands. He did not realize until later that she had never answered his question. When he did recall it, he tugged at his curls, torn between laughter and frustration. As was usual for Peregrin Took, laughter won.


	4. To Tall Tales

He took her home the next day. There were no more nightmares while she was there, and they co-existed peacefully: quiet or talkative, merry or melancholy. They kept the house clean, and he showed her how to muck out Surefoot's stall and bed the mare down, where the hay was and how the pump worked that drew water into the trough. Diamond taught him the best way to cook dried mutton, in her turn, and how to turn four-month-old preserves into a decent pie.

They rode back to Sprite Hollow through a gleaming, sparkling faeryland of white snow, blinded by sunlight on the whiteness and relieved to ride through shadow-barred woods, where birds whistled and called and clumps of snow slid off the branches to land at the pony's feet.

He didn't linger at her house, but saw her in and settled, patted Gimli-the-cat, and mounted his pony again. He wanted to think. About her, of course, but also about himself. He took a different road than was his habit, one that went through Hobbiton, and in the village late that afternoon he stopped at Bag End to call on Sam.

"Pippin, how are you?" asked Sam as he ushered him in. "You didn't walk, did you?" Sam peered out the round green door, looking for Pippin's mount.

"No, I left Surefoot at _The Green Dragon_ \-- I thought I'd stop in there later." Pippin stamped his feet on the mat and pulled off his boots, and Sam took his cloak. The door closed behind him and Rosie looked in to smile and say hello; peeping round her skirts was little Elanor, and Frodo-lad toddled right out to greet his Uncle Pip. Pippin scooped him up and swung him into the air so he laughed, then set the child on his hip.

Rosie disappeared into the back of the house with Elanor, and Sam, Pippin, and young Frodo settled down in the front parlor. The elder Frodo's desk still stood before the window, covered with Sam's papers, and Pippin glanced at it, then around at the cozy hole, a welcoming, warm, and tidy place. With a glow of recognition he identified the pretty rug at the foot of the couch as one of Diamond's make. Frodo-lad sat on his lap and reached for his hair; Pippin bent over and let him wrap his chubby fingers in it.

"It's a cold day to be out and about in," observed Sam, watching his tall friend wince and grinning. "Beautiful, though."

"Yes, I was giving a friend a ride home," said Pippin. He tilted his head to look up at Sam, working gently to disentangle Frodo's hand, so as to keep a few strands of hair on his head. "Mistress Greenbuckle, of Sprite Hollow."

"Yes, I've seen her before," Sam nodded. "You are great friends, I've heard." Sam had been tempered, and he no longer immediately said whatever came into his head; he waited for Pippin.

"Yes." Pippin sighed and straightened, and gave Frodo his (clean) pocket hanky to look at. The child took it and then sat staring up at Pippin with large blue eyes, uncannily like his namesake's. "Sam," Pippin started, then stopped.

"Yes?" said Sam.

"Well," Pippin said, and his voice trailed off.

Sam shifted and then suddenly grinned at Pippin. "I never thought I'd see the day when Peregrin Took couldn't find a word - twenty words - to say whatever he wanted. I'd wager there's a lady you want to talk about. I'd wager she's a pretty young widow, too."

Pippin grimaced. "Still Sam, I hear," he said sardonically. "Yes, all right, that's it. I want to know how you, what you, what you said... Well, how in the world did you ever come to the point with Rosie and ask her to... you know... marry you."

Sam pursed his lips and whistled a little. Frodo stretched his arms to Sam and he lifted him away from Pippin and jounced him on his knee as they spoke. "Well, with Rosie it was more like... what she said to me. I didn't have to do much at all, to be honest, Pip." He leaned forward a bit and raised a confidential eyebrow at his friend. "She's a woman who knows her own thoughts," he said. "I guess I just said I missed her while I was gone, and then... well, she did the rest. She's pretty set in her mind."

"So is this one," said Pippin sourly. "I just don't know what her mind is -- and bless me if I want to ask. She's so close about herself. But lord, Sam, I can't marry anyone else," he cried. "And I don't mind waiting as long as there is to wait, but I would like to know... well, whether she wants to marry me, too, I suppose." His face twisted with emotion for a moment, and Sam looked at him sympathetically.

"I've been there myself," he said. "Too frightened to ask and too smitten to look away. Has she given you any sign that she likes you?"

Pippin thought of her kisses, her body against his, her cheerful laughter and bright eyes and generous meals. "Yes, every sign - except to say anything," he admitted. "I'm a fool, Sam, just as Gandalf always said. Because no matter how much she _does_, I want to hear her _say_ something, and yet I'm too half-witted to say something myself and bring her to it."

"It sounds to me like you know what you need to do, Pippin," said Sam. "Just steel your nerve and do it, then. It shouldn't be too much after what you've already done," he added.

"Compared to her, Old Man Willow was a walk in the garden," Pippin replied, and they laughed a little. He sat back and watched his friend with the baby. Sam sat so easy here in his home -- confident and secure and safe. "You look happy," Pippin said simply.

"I am happy," Sam admitted, trying not to look smug. He kissed his son's curly head. "I miss Mr. Frodo something terrible, but I expect he needed to go. He was never happy, really, although he had times when he was merry for the moment. But he had a lot stolen from him, I'd say. Stolen by that ring, and the journey, and what came at the end." Frodo-lad laughed into the quiet that stretched out between them, there in the sun-washed parlor, and Sam leaned down to kiss him again.

"It was an ugly thing," said Pippin then. "We've Frodo to thank for the good times we have now."

Sam nodded and they sat together until the early winter dusk fell, talking of this and that -- Will Whitfoot was mayor again, but he trusted Sam with a lot of work, and Sam and Pippin talked about the Guard in a desultory fashion -- who was doing well or ill; who enjoyed the work a bit too much and who had come in with a desire merely for the regular meals enjoyed by the Guardsmen. Rosie invited Pippin to stay to supper of course, and he did, sitting down with her and Sam and the children.

"Well," he said after a long and thoroughly enjoyable meal... and dessert... and filling in the corners... "I meant to stop in at _The Green Dragon_ this evening, so I suppose I'd best be on my way."

Sam glanced at Rose and then said, "I'll just come along, if you don't mind the company," he said. "And you're sleeping here, don't think you're not."

"I would be a fool to decline. As for your company at the tavern, I'd appreciate it indeed, if Rose can spare you," said Pippin. "I am hoping to meet Merry there, as well -- we missed each other at Crickhollow, but I imagine he's ready to escape from his kin. I expect Brandybuck Hall is feeling a bit confining after two days of snowfall." He grinned at Sam and a few minutes later they bundled up and strode out into the starlit night.

"When the moon rises you'll be able to read a book by it," commented Sam; Pippin nodded and they walked the rest of the way without speaking, scurrying quickly through the snow until they were welcomed by the warm yellow light of _The Green Dragon_.

Samwise Gamgee and Peregrin Took were welcomed noisily into an unexpectedly crowded room, and they waved and called to friends, taking a seat at a table in the back, near the fire. They had only just got their first flagons of ale when Meriadoc Brandybuck stamped into the room, shedding snow from his boots and leaving them to dry by the door (along with everyone else's footwear). He crossed the room to join them, replying smartly to flying witticisms.

"Well, it's a long, cold ride from the Hall," said Merry without prelude, "but I think worth it." He sat down with a thump across from Sam, beside Pippin. "I left this morning before elevenses, if you can believe it. But if I had to spend one more minute mewed up with Cousin Goodbody. . . . " His expressive face left them in no doubt that the outcome would be grim. "What's this?" he cried. "Drinking already, and not a drop for me?" Sam grinned and went to the bar. Merry looked around at the steamy room. "I guess I'm not the only hobbit with one too many cousins -- present company excepted of course," he said. Then, "So, Pip, what news from the Mark?"

Pippin took a long drink. "Why, little enough news, cousin," he said, wiping his mouth.

Sam came back and slid Merry's drink to him, sitting down again to his own glass. "The news is all bad," he intoned solemnly. "Young Peregrin here faces a dilemma," he said to Merry.

Pippin spluttered. "Sam!" he exclaimed.

Merry cocked an eyebrow. "Do tell, dear friend," he said to Samwise.

Pippin made as if to protest, but Merry clapped a hand over his mouth and confined his struggles, apparently effortlessly, while Sam continued. "Well, it seems, Mister Meriadoc, that Mister Peregrin is smitten with a lady."

Pippin bit Merry's hand and the telling was interrupted by a quick wrestling match, yells, and laughter -- and outrage when Merry, leaping up and away, spilled Gaffer Burrows's brew at the next table. The uproar was quieted when Nick came over to mop up the mess, Pippin bought Mr. Burrows a new flagon, and everyone settled back to their tables.

Pippin settled back down, glaring at Sam and Merry. "Two such friends I could do without," he said in irritation.

Merry grinned, rubbing his hand where Pippin's teeth had left a mark. Sam shook his head. "Now, Pippin, my lad," he said. "That's what you came to talk about, and no mistake about it."

"'Pippin, my lad' indeed," snorted Pippin, but he didn't deny it, instead burying his nose in his jar.

Merry patted him on the back. "No worries," he said. "I knew the day was coming. Your elders will see you through." He winked at Sam. "So, who's the lass? Or should I say lady?"

Pippin refused to look up from his brew, and Merry laughed. "Ah, Pip, don't mind our teasing. We've been waiting this last age for you to say something, that's all. So how is Mistress Greenbuckle?"

Keeping his long nose obstinately down, Pippin muttered something (doubtless unflattering) that was probably not a description of Diamond.

"What's that?" said Sam, cupping his hand behind one ear.

"I said," repeated Pippin distinctly, lifting his head at last, "that she is just fine, thank you for inquiring so kindly." He squinted at Sam. "Perhaps my elders are getting rather deaf at their advanced years," he added.

"Yes, perhaps so," agreed Sam equably. He turned to look at Merry. "Mister Pippin is smitten," he said again. "And apparently - " he looked at Pippin and tilted an eyebrow - "the lady is not revolted by him, but hasn't said anything to the point. Of course, neither has the young Took," he said pointedly.

"So it's like that, eh?" said Merry. "She's a spirited lady, from all you've said and what I've heard," he said. Pippin looked up quickly and Merry held his hands up defensively. "I've heard nothing ill," he said hastily, unsuccessfully hiding a smile.

Pippin made a face at him. "_You_ act so smug," he said. "How are things with Estella?"

"Just fine," said Merry cheerfully. "We've decided to wait a while, but we've come to an Agreement." Such Agreements were common in the Shire, and universally accepted; they were the recognized precursor to a formal engagement, and the equivalent of Pippin and Diamond's unorthodox relationship, and something he wanted, right at that moment, somewhat desperately. He snorted, therefore, in disgust at his friend's good fortune.

"Diamond and I seem to have an Agreement, but as neither one of us has ever said a bloody word about it, I just don't know where I stand," Pippin said, his voice spiraling upward in comical despair.

"Well, tell us," suggested Sam. There was nothing of prurience in his voice -- it was not really a hobbit trait, although of course they did love to gossip. But romance (beyond which tweenagers were caught kissing in pantries and behind hay barns) was not considered a fit topic for gossip until the parties concerned were married or buried, in general. "How do things stand?"

Pippin looked moodily into his mug. "They're lovely," he said. "She's spirited, all right - sharper than a blessed sword, and more than a match for my wits. And welcoming, you know..." His friends nodded; they knew. "She's a good cook, and a good craftswoman. She weaves these beautiful rugs and sells them. You have one in your parlor," he said to Sam. "But I just can't tell what she wants!" he burst out. "She's very accustomed to living alone, I think - she lives fair far from her closest kin, having moved away when she married Will Greenbuckle." Sam and Merry nodded again. "She's as solitary as, as, as Frodo was!" Pippin finished. "And I have no idea whether we're just passing acquaintances or more. She's still young," he added. "Younger than me even - she won't reach her majority for a few more years."

"Mayhap you should just, well... wait?" said Merry. "She must've married awfully young."

"Folk in the North Farthing are famous for it," interjected Sam wisely.

Merry went on. "Maybe you should wait until she reaches her majority and then make a formal engagement."

"Well, I still have to say something now, don't I?" pointed out Pippin miserably. "With my mam throwing unmarried lasses into my path every time I go home to eat, and my aunts worse, if you can believe it... Between all of them, I must've met every eligible lass in Tuckborough, and fifty more from without!" Sam and Merry began to laugh, and after a moment Pippin joined them. They finished off their ale and sat looking at the bottoms of their tankards, giggling occasionally at the picture that had come unbidden to all three, simultaneously, of Pippin fleeing before of a herd of plump hobbit lasses.

"Ah well," Pippin sighed. "As you said before, Sam, I know what I have to do. Now I just have to get my nerve high enough to do it."

Merry laughed again. "We'll have to keep this secret from the members of the Guard," he told his fellow Captain. "They'll never follow you again if they know a lady can put such fear into you."

"None of them are as handsome - or frightening - as Diamond Greenbuckle," Pippin retorted. "I've less fear of their ugly faces than of her pretty one."

"Hear, hear," said Sam. "Who's getting the next round, then?"

Pippin took his turn at the bar, exchanging a joke with Nick and returning with three full mugs. "You may laugh at me all you like, but she wants to meet you," he said to his friends when they were settled again.

"Good heavens," said Merry. "I'm all a-tremble at the mere thought."

Pippin cuffed him on the shoulder. "Do be quiet, Merry," he said. "I suppose I've told her so many tales, she just wants to know the people I've talked about."

"Tall tales, no doubt," said Sam.

"Not too tall," said Pip archly, grinning at Merry, the only other in the Shire who could boast of matching his height. Merry returned his grin and lifted his mug to Sam.

"To tall tales," the three said, and drank.

"Well, the weather's wretched for visiting, this time of year," said Merry after a foamy moment. "But I'm supposed to go to Bree at the end of March, to the beast market to buy ponies for the family fields. They have famous weavers and dyers there. Perhaps you and your Diamond would like to come along, as a business proposition?"

Pippin looked slightly taken aback. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I've no idea if she would like to travel, or would have any interest in the dyes of Bree at all. But I can ask," he said.

"And in the meantime," said Sam, "I'll have Rosie ask her over to dinner as soon as the roads are cleared a bit. And you at the same time," he added quickly. "You can bring her on your Surefoot. Rose is as discreet as the new moon, but she dearly loves to see people married off. She'd be happy to have a hand in making things work out as neat as a tale."

"To tall tales," said Merry again, and the three friends lifted their glasses and drank together once more.


	5. Presumption

As it happened, dinner at the Gamgee house never did take place that winter. Pippin did not see Diamond for well over a fortnight. The weather stayed harsh and the river froze, and the East Farthing Guard was busy with ragtag Men who came along the path the iced-over water made for them, looking for warmth and goods and not caring how they came by them. Peregrin and Meriadoc donned their knightly garb and patrolled with their Guardsmen. Most of the Men could be frightened off by a show of force and a timely placed arrow or two, but there were a few ugly incidents. The rule of the King was young, and Minas Tirith far away in the south; the hobbits tended to their own borders. Under the guidance of the Bucklander and the young Took, they tended them well, and those within the borders knew of the danger only from tales they were told by off-duty Guardsmen.

Pippin sent Diamond a note by Quick Post, and then did his best not to think about her, except as an abstract - part of what he protected when he faced down vagabonds and sent them back along the roads, out of and away from his home.

In early March there was a thaw, finally, and the Brandywine flowed again. The Guard kept their watch on watch, just to be sure of the better weather, but the Shire seemed calm and quiet when the two friends turned their ponies toward Buckland; Merry and Pippin, tired of cooking their own meals, were headed to Brandy Hall for a few days.

The ponies jogged along the muddy road and the two hobbits said little; the sky wept a cold grey drizzle, and they huddled inside their Elven cloaks, thankful for the shelter they provided and the warmth that lay ahead. The road curved down through the woods and then swooped back up, and they crossed the Brandywine Bridge just as dusk fell. "Not far now," said Merry as they turned south, and Pippin nodded, thinking longingly of a roaring fire and his Aunt Esmeralda's cooking. The silver and black armor of Gondor was impressive indeed, but the chain mail had long ago gone from heavy and chafing to agonizing in the wet weather, rubbing his neck raw; and his feet, though clad in unaccustomed boots, ached with cold.

Hoofbeats on the road behind them, and Merry and Pippin pulled their horses up and around to see a Guardsman, young Minto Burrows, careening toward them. He slid to a stop in the muddy road, gasping: "O Captains there's Trolls on the road and they're right close to Whitfurrows and the Guards there don't know what to do and Bungo Goold's been hurt and everyone is in a right taking and who knows what we'll do!"

The two Captains threw him a salute and then spurred their ponies - luckily strong ones, and not hard-ridden that day - into a gallop back the way they had come. The Bridge sounded hollow beneath the quick hooves, and then there was only the wet squelch of mud. It was a fair distance to Whitfurrows, and already dark; they shouted briefly to one another as they went, devising a way to deal with the thrice-cursed trolls.

The night was a long one, and ugly; no-one was killed by some lucky chance, except the Trolls, but Bungo Goold wasn't the only hobbit harmed. Pippin himself came away with a long, shallow cut on his forehead and scalp that he did not notice until the blood, in copious amounts, blinded him. The Trolls had come south from the North Downs, quietly and by night, and chanced not to be discovered until they ventured out of cover that very dusk.

It was nearly dawn when the messy work was finished, and Merry and Pippin chose to ride to the nearest Guardhouse to sleep. It was an old-fashioned house, with a thatched roof and curved walls; inside, golden light and polished paneling and the echoing voices of excited Guards greeted them. There was also food in generous plenty, and the beds, though narrow, were soft. Pippin let Merry wind a bandage round his head, giving him a slightly rakish air, then fell asleep looking up at the reflected flicker of firelight on the plain, strong rafters, smelling the steamy scent of clothes hung to dry on racks, and hearing the younger Guards still whispering together, trading tales in which the size of the Trolls increased with each telling.

~*~

He dreamed of Diamond's house. He opened her door on a bright day and walked through silent, sunlit rooms, searching for her. The floors gleamed and the colors of the flowers and woven rungs glowed, but all was still. Only the ticking of a mantel clock and the dancing motes of dust in a sunbeam moved at all as he paced from one untenanted room to the next, feeling dread grow in his heart.

~*~

He woke and sat up slowly, swinging his legs out of the bed. It was broad day, by the grey light coming through the windows at either end of the quiet hall, and Merry lay in the next cot, snoring gently, one hand thrown out of the covers and hanging beside the bed. The other cots were empty, their occupants long gone to duty or home, only the two venerable Captains left to sleep out their weariness.

Pippin ran his hands over his face, banishing the dream and its ill feeling. His fingers encountered the bandage and he began to unwind it, hissing a little as it stuck to the dried blood. It came free at last, though. "Wake up, sleeping beauty," he said, reaching to shake Merry's shoulder. His co-captain responded by rolling over and away with a grunt.

"Fine, then, stay in bed," said Pippin, then stood and leaned over Merry. "But I shan't leave you a single rasher, cousin, so don't come complaining later." He straightened and waited.

Merry rolled back toward him, squinting from a sleep-rumpled face. "You are as cruel as the Trolls," he groaned, and sat up, pushing his fingers through his curls until they stood up in wild elflocks.

"And you are as fair to look at," said Pippin, ambling away toward the kitchen hatch. They breakfasted (though it was nearly noon), and then Merry re-bound Pippin's head with fresh linen. They went out to the stables, trading chat with the Guards as they made their leisurely way.

"Still care to taste Mother's cooking?" said Merry as he tightened the girth of his pony's saddle.

Pippin was back with Surefoot, and glad to see her. He pulled her mane gently out from under the forehead strap of the bridle. "No," he said thoughtfully, turning toward Merry. "I think I shall ride west today. I'd like to see Diamond. And I haven't asked her about the trip to Bree yet."

"Well, you'd better ask in that case. We leave March twenty-sixth," said Merry, trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile. "Tell her I send my regards, then, and hope to see her at Brandy Hall. Will she need a pony?" They led their horses out of the stable.

"I'll bring Surefoot - she can carry us both," said Pippin. "If Diamond wants to come," and privately he touched wood. The dream had left him unsettled, and he felt he must get to Sprite Hollow as fast as the pony could be persuaded to go there.

"I'll see you before then, no doubt," said Merry. "Good riding." He climbed up into his saddle and lifted one hand in farewell. Pippin returned the salute, and heard Merry begin to sing as he turned onto the road.

~*~

From Whitfurrows to Diamond's farm was a distance, but Pippin was familiar with every road, path, and track, and he and Surefoot made their way at a steady trot-canter-trot across the Shire, coming through the woods of her land at just the point when his stomach began complaining of neglect. It was late afternoon, but not quite dusk, when he tugged on the reins to halt the mare at her door.

He dismounted with a stifled groan and knocked on the green door. There was no answer, and he looked around, feeling the dread of his dream rise up in his throat. Trying to rid himself of it, he called out, walking around the house to the shed. "Mistress Greenbuckle? Ho, Lady?"

He pushed open the door to the shed and saw her two brown goats looking at him from yellow eyes. "Hey lasses," he said to them, stepping inside. The chickens rustled in the hay. Beyond them something white glimmered on the edge of the door. A letter, pushed into the thin gap between the edge of the door and its frame.

"Master Peregrin Took" it read on its cover, and he took it up feeling like a trespasser, carrying it outside into the slowly fading light. He could hear her voice in his head as he read it:

> _6 March_
> 
> Mr. Took --
> 
> I have gone to stay with kin in the West Farthing. Should you come here before there, I wished you to know that I am well and have not been affected by the recent troubles. Farmer Bole and his family are caring for my animals while I am gone (in exchange for goods, of course).

He could hear her wry tone perfectly.

> _I have heard through our common kin that you are well, and I am glad. If you come home to visit your family, I am staying with my cousin - and perhaps yours - Marigold Banks, who lives at Took Bank. Perhaps we will see one another there._
> 
> \-- Mistress Diamond Greenbuckle

He read the note twice through and then tucked it into his shirt. It crinkled pleasantly beneath the fabric, and his worry faded. "It was only a dream, after all," he said aloud, and walked around the house to Surefoot.

He slept that night in another Guardhouse, and told the tale of the Trolls to many appreciative ears. The next morning early he mounted Surefoot and turned her head south, toward Tuckborough. He rode through a brightening day; the rain clouds had passed and the first warm sun of spring shone on bare earth and a haze of green on the trees. Hobbits were out in plenty, most known to him (especially as he drew nearer his home), and he waved and called out to them from the mare's back, watching as his kin prepared the fields for the first planting.

The road ran through green rolling hills until he came around a curve and saw Great Smials before him: a long, low hill, windows and doors set throughout. All the doors were open on a day like this, and quilts and blankets lay across every windowsill, freshening in the gentle air. Children ran across the lawns to greet him and he leaned down to lift a niece up before him on Surefoot's back. They trotted into the stable yard and Pippin handed her down to a stable lad and then swung off the mare himself.

"How do, Mr. Pippin? That's a nice hat you've got on, there," said the stable lad, an aged hobbit who had known Pippin man and boy, and remained unimpressed no matter what wild tales were told of him.

Pippin reached up to touch the bandage - he'd forgotten about it, but now the wound throbbed at the reminder. "Just a scratch. I'm well, Fosco, thank you for asking. How go things at the Smials?"

"Not amiss, not amiss," said Fosco, taking the reins from Pippin. "Your father is hale and hearty as ever, though he's not as young as once he was. He's near ninety if he's a day, and could use more help about the place, I'd say. Though he'd not thank me for saying it," added the gaffer, a knowing glint in his eye.

"No doubt about that," laughed Pippin, and giving Surefoot a thankful slap on the shoulder, he took his leave.

So that was the way of it. His people were beginning to wonder when he would come home, when he would settle to the business of learning his business. They knew already what it was, and Peregrin, for all the wryness of his smile, knew it too.

The wall between him and that life had begun to crumble as he healed of his long year away from the Shire. He saw a way past the pain, now, and in some deep place in his heart he was almost ready to step forward and through the door. But not quite. Not quite yet. He needed some thing more, and as he walked on bare feet through the familiar door of his true home, he knew with certainty what that thing was - who it was that he needed.

Even as he smiled and greeted the sisters, cousins, nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, gaffers, and gammers who variously ran or called to him, he steeled his resolve. He would woo Diamond in earnest, and assume nothing. He would speak, and ask her to speak. And if he could win her, he would begin a new life with her at his side.

~*~

Pippin sat down one of twenty or so for the midday meal; there were, of course, other dining rooms throughout the Smials, it being in effect a small village under the hill. But this was the Took's table, and the family ate together, nearest kin to the Thain and guests -- for there were always plenty of those, too -- sitting in no particular order at the long tables, placed in a square-cornered U in the low, wide hall.

The food was plentiful and delicious, Pippin's mother Eglantine being a prodigious and talented cook, and one with many willing helpers in the capacious Took kitchens. She came and fussed over Pippin, exclaiming at the bandage on his head and giving him a smacking kiss before sitting down to eat; a buxom, cheerful mother, proud of Pippin and showing it usually by twitting him about his (sudden) excess of height, shortage of girth, and lack of interest in the marriageable lasses chivvied into his view.

Pippin sat to his father's left and, once appetites had slowed and talk was again polite, told the tale of the Troll attack, made suitable for mealtime and paid close attention by those nearest at the table.

His father listened but said little, and at the end of the narrative said, "Come and speak with me after dinner about the Trolls. I'd like to hear more."

Peregrin nodded and then ate quietly as the talk moved on to other topics: the Long Winter: wolves: stories of wolves: tall tales (Pippin smiled a little into his soup): liars as opposed to storytellers: Poppy Proudfoot as a shining example of a liar: all the Proudfoots as liars: Proudfoots or Proudfeet? and here the dinnertime talk ended and folk began getting up to attend their daily tasks or chores, or, in the case of the much older, much younger, or much more venerable of the company, to nap and then attend to their daily tasks.

Pippin followed his father's beck and they went into the old man's study. "I am glad to see you safe and well, Peregrin," said Paladin. At one month shy of 90 years, he was round and stout, but shrewd still, and he moved briskly about, clearing a space for his son to sit. "Papers, papers everywhere," he grumbled sourly.

"You're kept busy these days, too, Thain," said Pippin, sitting on the low leather chair his father had cleaned.

"Ah, most of it is accounts and busywork, things I could as well delegate to your cousins, if they weren't useless layabouts. The only one of any worth at all, at all, is young Hildy, and he's decided to work with the beast handlers." Paladin gave a snort.

"He'll be useful there, too," Pippin pointed out.

"Yes, yes," said the Thain, sitting with a groan in his big, embracing chair by the window, "and probably more useful; for all his wit, he's more politic with beasts than with people, and he's less likely to offend someone important in the cattle folds." He looked at his son keenly. "I am getting old, Peregrin," he said.

Pippin returned his father's glance. "Not too old for many years yet, we may all hope." He bowed slightly in his seat.

"Not quite yet," said the Took. "And there you are, you see - you have that sweet tongue Hildy hasn't, and many times the experience he has. Many times the experience anyone else in the family has, if truth be told."

Pippin laughed. "I don't think the members of the Guard would say my tongue was any too sweet, Father. As for experience... Well, it's no use to deny it, but it can't replace age in bringing wisdom."

Paladin ignored the comment about the Guard. "You always did know how to wheedle your way into - or out of - anything you wanted," he muttered.

"I had good teachers," said Pippin, grinning, and his father gave a bark of laughter.

"Yes, well, between you and your sisters it's a miracle Great Smials is still standing, considering the mischief you all used to do. But Peregrin, the time for mischief is past - or mostly past."

Pippin sighed. "Father, I am almost ready to come home and learn - what you have not already taught me, which is a lot but not near enough. There is a thing I need to do, first, though."

The Took looked intently at his son. "Can you tell me what it is?"

Peregrin dropped his gaze, looking outside to the greensward, where all was quiet save for two galloping children. "I... well, it's private yet, but I will tell you." He looked back at his father. "There's a lady I wish to court," he said.

Paladin leaned back in his chair. "There have been rumors reached my ears."

Pippin blushed painfully. "No doubt," he said dryly. "Your ears always were far too good for my comfort, and rumors fly faster than eagles across the Shire." He took a deep breath. "Her name is Diamond Greenbuckle, and she is a widow, widow to Willman Greenbuckle, who died in the Lockholes three - no, four years ago during the Disturbances. Her mother was a North-Took, and she has a farm south of Long Cleeve."

Paladin was nodding. "Yes, I recall the name. Her mother was Adamantha North-Took, I believe." Pippin acquiesced, feeling creeping relief: His father had not fallen down in a fit at the mention of the name. "Have you stated your intentions to the lady?"

Pippin made a face. "Not in so many words. That is why I need yet a bit more time."

Paladin sat still. Outside the window was the high shrill sound of the children's voices, birdsong, and in the distance the faint noise of a prosperous village going about its business on the first sweet day of the Spring. They listened for a few minutes, sitting together in peace, until finally the old man stirred and sighed. "Well, well," he said. "If you say it should be so, then do what you need to do. But Peregrin," his gaze narrowed, "the days do go on. Think about leaving that hole by the Brandywine, and coming back home."

"I will, Father," said Pippin. "I could perhaps move back by the beginning of May, if that would be useful."

"Oh, yes. And have no fear, I will see to it that you are useful, my son. Now tell me about the Trolls, and tell me how they were dealt with, exactly, so I can make a record of it against future need."

"Send that there is no such need," said Pippin automatically. "Well, what happened was this..."

~*~

Pippin spent the afternoon with his father; after tea he walked into the village. He was seeking the smial of Marigold Banks.

The day continued in its loveliness, but Pippin was now unaware of it. Hands stuffed into his pockets, he gazed blindly down at his feet on the road with a face unwontedly grim. Neighbors passed him by without speaking, put off by his demeanor. He was thinking hard: It was one thing to say he would woo Diamond, another entirely to try and figure out how he would accomplish the feat.

"Goodness me," said a familiar voice. "No one would know to look at your face that you had won a great victory, Captain." Pippin stopped where he stood and looked up. Diamond stood beside the gate-post of a small, neat yard.

"Mistress Greenbuckle," said Pippin. He swept her a bow. "How do you do? I am not wearing a hat or I would remove it, of course." He felt a helpless smile spreading across his face and cursed himself for a silly fool, but could not stifle it.

"Mister Took," she replied, slightly mocking. "Of course I don't expect you to remove that hat." Her eyes rested for a moment on the bandage, which he had forgotten about again. "I trust you are well?"

"Very well." They both spoke as much for nearby neighbors as for one another.

"And since when have you and I stood on such ceremony?" She lowered her voice just slightly. "It has been less than a month, not a year, since we saw one another last."

His throat was suddenly dry with the desire to touch her, and he swallowed painfully. "It felt like a year, and a cold year," he said low, with a sweet smile. In a more normal tone he added, "I was just seeking your cousin's house to call on you," he said.

She blushed, but her voice was merely polite. "You have found what you seek. But I cannot invite you in to introduce to my cousin; she is out at the moment. I happened to see you passing as I stood enjoying the sunshine."

They talked easily (on the surface at least) of the weather for a few minutes. A pause fell naturally, and then stretched unnaturally as they each looked away from the other at the blue sky, the bare trees just budding, the warm brown earth of the garden; Pippin shifted from foot to foot and cleared his throat, but didn't speak. Diamond looked sidelong at him with a sardonic eye. "Pippin, I would guess that you have something to say but have not framed it yet."

"Oh!" cried he. "It's nothing of great import, I can assure you. It's just an idea I had, that perhaps if you were interested, about your weaving, that you, that we, that I might - " He stopped himself. "May I begin again?"

"Perhaps that would be better," said Diamond, with a wicked gleam in her green eyes.

"As you say," agreed Pip, stung back to himself and smiling now. "My cousin Meriadoc Brandybuck and I are planning a trip to Bree at the end of this month, and I was wondering if you would like to accompany us. The weavers and dyers of Bree are highly spoken of and I thought that perhaps you might like to meet with them and purchase yarns? Dyes? Wool?" He shifted on his feet again. "I don't really know what you might like or need, but I thought perhaps the opportunity should be presented to you."

Diamond's eyebrows had been rising steadily, and now he was pleased to see her looking, for the first time in their acquaintance, flabbergasted. Indeed she stood staring at him for a long moment, then closed her mouth. "Well. I, I don't know. Traveling... to Bree." She cocked her head to the side. "It strikes me as fairly... well, fairly mad. Considering recent... events." Her gaze flicked to the dressing on his head.

"No, my lady, I can assure you that the weather was the worst foe we had, but I think winter has had its last word. The brigands around here have certainly been cleaned out, and Bree is safe. As for the road between, well, as long as we stay on the Road, we should be safe." He smiled his ingenuous smile. "And besides, you will be traveling with the Captains of the Shire Guard, and not them alone - Mr. Brandybuck is planning to buy horses for his family's use, and my father has given me leave to do the same for ours. Others will be coming - trusty, stout-hearted folk. We shan't be warlike, as who should say, but we shall be careful and well-armed."

"Well," she said again. "I shall... I shall think about it, then. May I tell you tomorrow? Perhaps you could call again?" He knew, in a flash, that she was also wishing they could be alone. He wanted to take her in his arms then and there and kiss her soundly, but of course to do so would cause a seven-days wonder. They were not alone, though no-one stood at their elbows; Took Bank was a small village, and there were people in gardens and curtains stirring; both knew that their short visit at the garden gate would be reported from house to house and hole to hole within the hour.

"I shall try to call tomorrow," he said, restraining himself with an effort from reaching to touch her hand. "I will be riding the western bounds, in the woodland, all through the morning, but perhaps in the early evening I can come."

"I will tell my cousin to expect you, and you can meet her, as well as hear my answer." Diamond nodded her head to him, and backed away from the gate, smiling a little in farewell and then disappearing inside the round yellow door.

Pippin stood spellbound for a moment and then spun around, feeling a sudden excess of energy. He began to walk back toward the Smials, a slightly witless smile upon his face; and he sang as he walked.

~*~

The next morning dawned lovely again, and the air was warm enough that Pippin left his jacket behind when he left the breakfast table. He waved goodbye to his parents and went trotting west down the main road out of the village. Soon he turned off the road and onto a path. His feet were silent on the dirt, and he could see far through the woods, still sere and brown, with low-lying bracken at the foot of the trees. The tip of each twig on the trees had a swelling bud. Birds flitted from tree to tree, their noisy song all around him, and sunlight slanted down through the bare branches, lighting cool mists. Pippin took a deep breath of the sweet air, and at that moment saw a tree he knew -- an enormous oak, twisted and thick with years. A rune was carved into its bark. He left the path and stepped high through the bracken to reach it. Once there he took out his knife and renewed the mark, smearing the wounded wood with salve from a jar in his pocket, after, to protect from insects. It was one of the boundary signs of the Tookland. A faint track led to the left and he followed it until he came to the next symbol-carved tree, about forty paces away, where he repeated his knife-work and dressing.

So the morning passed. He stopped when the sun was midway up the eastern sky, and sat with his back against a tall beech to eat his second breakfast. After he had tucked away enough food to keep himself going, he lit his pipe and gazed into the blue sky, watching the smoke melt away in the clear air. Then he stood and stretched, and mussed his hair -- what wasn't held down by the bandage -- in a thorough manner. _I must take that blasted thing off soon_, he thought; _it is past its usefulness_. Food packed up, he slung the bag over his shoulders again and continued his journey.

Just at midday he came back to the west road. He had renewed the boundary marks over a quarter of the Tookland, and he sat down to eat the last few tidbits left in his pack (he would eat a full luncheon back at the Smials) and have another pipe. He waved to a cart that passed, and also to a Messenger who went trotting by on the back of a shaggy pony, bags of mail slung on either side of the saddle. After that the road stayed clear, and he was just knocking his pipe against a stone to empty the dead ashes when he spied another figure coming toward him.

He sat where he was, watching Diamond approach. "Hello, my lady," he said, squinting up at her, when she finally stopped before him.

"Yesterday you regretted your lack of a hat, but today you don't even stand to greet a lady," Diamond said. The sunlight played on her cloud of dark hair, bringing out ruddy glints.

Pippin looked carefully up and down the deserted road, then sprang to his feet and grabbed her waist and whirled her round, kissing her heartily. He set her down again, both of them laughing, breathless. "Was that more the sort of greeting you looked for?"

"Well, it was certainly more enjoyable," she laughed, clutching his arms to keep her balance.

"I thought so," he agreed. He bent to kiss her again, and they both sat down beside the road. "Have you thought about going to Bree?"

"Yes, and I think I should like it," she said, so firmly that he wondered if she was quite done convincing herself.

Nonetheless, Pippin felt a glow at her words, and that same helpless grin rising. "Ah, I'm glad to hear you say so," he replied. "If you will allow me, I can take care of the traveling plans."

"I had expected as much," she said with a quirk of her lips. "Hoped for it, indeed. I have no experience with journeys, and you have much. Had you not offered I would have asked."

"Oh, Diamond, I hope you do enjoy it. I love life here in the Shire more than I can say, but there is something magical about seeing new places, watching the road open up before your feet and curve round to show you something you have never seen before!"

His enthusiasm was contagious, and Diamond smiled back at him. "You make it sound enchanting."

"Well," he replied with a shrug, "it's not always perfect. There are times when it rains, and times when it snows. Sometimes it's foggy. And the food isn't what you'd get at home." She was laughing at him now, and he went on, grinning as he embroidered. "And you want to beware of falling into bogs, and having run-ins with barrow wights, and Orcs and Goblins and most definitely Trolls should be avoided." He lectured her mock-seriously. "You must remember to take your blanket and cloak, your tinder and flint, a good stout knife, and," he held up one finger, "you must never, ever, under any circumstances..." he cocked his head at her, "travel without at least one Captain of the Guard."

She was laughing. "Well, then you can stay home, I suppose, once I have met Captain Meriadoc."

"Oh no," said Pippin. "He's not a real Captain. I just let him tag along so he won't feel left out."

"You're very kind," said Diamond. She stood up then, brushing the dust from her skirts. "Well, now that that is settled, I should walk back to the village. Would you care to accompany me?"

She looked lovely, standing in the bright warm sunlight. He could hardly see her face for the sun above her, but he couldn't help - or believe - the next words that came from his lips. "Diamond, will you be my wife?"

As soon as he'd said them he wished them back into his mouth. He scrambled to his feet and began to stammer, unable to look at her for the furious blush crimsoning his face. "I mean, I, that is, I shouldn't have, I didn't mean to -"

"Peregrin Took."

He stopped and looked at her. "Yes?" Her face was closed, unreadable, and he wondered what lay beneath that unruffled surface.

She looked back; he saw her gaze linger on the bandage he wore, then her eyes came back to his. She shook her head at him, gently, not quite a negation. "Ask me another time." They stood regarding one another for a long moment - he open-mouthed and unsure, she still wearing that odd, closed look.

He closed his mouth with a snap (not for the first time in their acquaintance, and not for the last, he suspected). "Your servant, my lady," he said. He took her arm, but could not bring his feet to move yet. She looked quizzically at him. "I just -" He took a deep breath. "Is there any hope?" Her face closed to him; he saw it go blank and smooth. "I'm sorry," he said, "I should never have presumed. But Diamond, I do love you."

She turned away from him. Her voice came as though from a distance. "You don't presume," she said. "But I - I do not know what to say or how to answer you."

"Tell me the truth, Diamond."

She turned to look at him. "The truth? The truth is that I love you in return. But not enough. And the lack is in me, not you!" she said. "I listen to your tales and wonder whether you can be quiet again -- some part of you still wanders, some part has not come home from your long journey. I look at you today and all I can see is your bandage, your hurt. I cannot bear to lose another person I love. I cannot bear it!"

"Would it be better if I stayed in the Shire? If I left the Guard to Merry?" he asked, hardly knowing what he said.

"No, of course not!" Her face was defiant, green eyes wet, and Pippin longed to hold her. "Your wandering, your courage -- I love them as much as any part of you. They are not faults or flaws. Without them you would not be you, the person I cannot bear to lose!" She laughed suddenly at the absurdity of it. "So ask me another time, Peregrin Took. Ask me when I am stronger."

He regarded her for a long moment, then offered his arm once more. "I will ask again," he said. "Shall we walk?"

She drew in a long, shuddering breath, calming herself. "Certainly."

She took his arm and they strolled toward Took Bank, silent for a time and then speaking of small things. There were no more protestations that day, or in the days following, until Pippin went back to Crickhollow, three days later.


	6. The Best Laid Plans...

March fourteenth had come already, and Pippin wanted to begin packing his things. When he came back from Bree he intended to vacate Crickhollow and move back to the Smials, and he thought it best to be organized beforehand. He also had to tell Merry, a task he dreaded in many ways -- not least because he was not sure he was ready to live without his cousin at arm's reach.

He stabled Surefoot out of the chill, damp afternoon and picked his way down the stairs to the back door. There was no-one inside to greet him once again, and he felt a strange loneliness. He had only been here briefly after the blizzard, to collect his armor and leave the house in order before going on Guard duty night and day for the frozen weeks afterward.

Merry came home later that evening, banging through the back door with a gust of fresh, wet air. "What weather!" he shouted into the house by way of announcing his arrival, shaking his wet head. It had started in to rain. He hung his cloak by the fire to steam and Pippin came in and tossed him a cloth. "Thank you," he said, rubbing his curls vigorously. He wiped his feet to end and hung the cloth beside his cloak. A moment later he stood facing the kitchen fire, hands out, eyes closed in the blissful warmth. "Have you cooked anything?"

Pippin waved to the pot over the flames. "Stew should be ready about now," he said, and went to the pantry for bread. Merry rummaged for bowls and cups and soon they were seated at the table, Merry with his chair hitched as close to the hearth as he could get it, Pippin opposite him. Merry ate with concentration for a while (Pippin's nerves had stolen most of his appetite), and the only conversation revolved around "Pass the butter, please," and "Third helping?" Finally Merry sat back and sighed. "Excellent nosh," he said, patting his belly.

"Thank you," said Pippin. "I got the recipe from your Aunt Iris."

"She always was a deft hand with soups," said Merry. "You didn't eat much."

Pippin smiled a little. "I tasted as I cooked," he said, and Merry nodded. Comfortable silence fell over the room; outside the windows rain fell in the darkness, and they both gazed like cats into the crackling fire on the hearth - Pippin like a slightly fidgety cat. Finally Pippin stirred. "Merry, I have to tell you something," he said.

His cousin was smiling. "You do," he agreed.

"Damn it all, Merry," said Pippin peevishly. "How do you always know?"

"Oh, Pip," said Merry. "I always know you. You never cook from my family's recipes unless you want to get me in a good mood, and you hardly ate - like a flaming signpost, that is - and you've been sighing and shifting and wriggling since I walked in. So out with it."

Pippin made a face. "If you're so all-knowing then you tell me," he said.

Merry grinned, and began ticking his ideas off on his fingers. "One: You found my secret stash of Old Toby and you've smoked it all. Two: Your father has asked you to come home to the Smials and you want to move out. Three: You're to marry your lady and you want to move out. Four: You found my secret stash of Old Toby and you are angry that I didn't share and you want _me_ to move out."

Pippin was silent for such a long while that Merry's smile faded. Finally the younger hobbit spoke. "You know me too well," was all he said, and he managed a small smile. "It only took you two guesses. My father did indeed say something; he said he's getting old. I think he's ready to start handing over the running of things, if I can only concentrate long enough to learn it." He stopped and looked down at the table, where his hands twisted together. "I've little excuse not to concentrate, now. I've gotten better in the last months."

"You have gotten much better," Merry agreed. "When were you thinking of going back to the Smials?" Pippin didn't answer, still looking down. Merry noticed he was running his thumb across the scar at the base of his palm. Merry reached across the table to touch Pippin's fingers. "What are you thinking?"

"That you seem neither surprised nor, nor sad," said Pippin in a small voice. He sounded suddenly sixteen years old, when Merry had discovered lasses and Pippin had been left behind a time or two while Merry and Freddy and Berilac pursued this fascinating new species in the taverns.

"Oh, Pip," said Merry again. He smiled as he pressed Pippin's hands gently. "I am most certainly a bit surprised, and most certainly very sad, but if you had not made the choice, I would have had to make it soon - my father, too, is ready to see me take a more active place in the family affairs. And Estella," Merry blushed, "would like to set a date for our wedding - I can only hold her off for so long," he said.

Pippin could not hide his grin. "Better you that has to hold her off than me," he said impudently, and Merry tossed a bread crust at his nose.

"In any case," Merry said, mock-severely, "I knew the day was coming. Your father must be ready to enjoy his ease and his grandchildren; I know mine is - with the exception of the grandchildren." He grinned at Pippin.

"How long will that state last, once Estella has her way with you?" asked Pippin, his chagrin fading in the warmth of Merry's familiar smile.

"Well, first I have to get moved back into Brandy Hall," said Merry. "Then I figure I can hold her off for at least a year, maybe two. She's the one for me, never fear," he reassured Pippin when he saw the skeptical look on his face. "I'm just not quite ready to marry yet - I need a bit of time to find my own footing in my home before I bring her into it."

"Does Estella know that?"

"Yes, she's willing to wait," said Merry confidently. "She just wants, she wants, well..." he faltered.

"She wants some proof that you are on the way," said Pippin dryly.

"Well, yes," said Merry with a rueful shrug.

"Fair enough," said Peregrin. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes. "I wonder if Diamond will be impressed with my newfound responsibility," he mused aloud.

"Stranger things have happened," said Merry, grinning again.

"I don't know," said Pippin. "She does not strike me as overly concerned with what others might think of her, or her choice of me - if she chooses me at all."

~*~

Pippin had visited Diamond daily in Took Bank. She never ventured the road to Great Smials, and he was leery to subject her to an invitation and the necessary scrutiny of his family that her call would entail. Her cousin Marigold Banks was a pleasant enough spinster, red-cheeked and chuckling most of the time, though she did not share the source of her cheerfulness with either Pippin or Diamond.

"She's always like that," said Diamond with a shrug when her relative stepped out of the room the first time Pippin called. Pippin accepted it philosophically and used his most courtly manner with Marigold, winning more almost-silent chuckles from the round little lady.

Diamond intended, she had told him, to return to Sprite Hollow in another week or so, and she would expect him to arrive to help her prepare for the journey to Bree on March twenty-fifth. She spoke openly, and the rumor of it spread like wildfire. The Brandybuck expedition was accepted (albeit with a certain amount of head-shaking), and to have the firebrand young son of the Took family join it was worthy of comment only in so far as people could add to their gossip about those odd Tooks - good for a fireside natter, but not unusual.

To have a lady joining the travelers, though - it fair beggared the imagination. Within two days of her calm mention of the journey (to Mr. Pippin, in the hearing of Miss Banks), she had received letters from no less than six kinfolk, in varying modes (amusement at the impossible rumor, horror at the mere idea, concern for her safety, questioning whether she had lost her senses, and so on and so forth). To the kindly letters, Mistress Greenbuckle replied with well-written thanks for the concern of the writers but unwavering confirmation of the truth of the rumor; to the more distasteful letters, she replied not at all.

Peregrin's family took the news without an ounce of surprise; indeed some of the younger members begged to be allowed to accompany him, and - after consultation with Merry - he consented to having one nephew along -- "strictly as a beast of burden," he warned the delighted young hobbit. "You'll ride alongside one of the Brandybucks," he said. "And if there's trouble, you'll duck under the wains and stay there until you're told to come out." The lad agreed to all conditions with shining eyes.

Pippin wondered what Gerry (for so he was called, short for Gerontius, a venerable Took name) would actually do if put in a hard place; but the Captains did not expect trouble. The Rangers were gone south, but a few widely scattered Men still roamed the hills outside the Shire (Merry kept in contact with them, as seemed prudent); and the borders had been so recently cleared that no danger seemed to threaten. Besides which Bree was a mere two-day ride east of the Brandywine Bridge (one day at speed, but he and Merry knew the carts, two at least, would slow them, and had planned for a two-day journey).

~*~

It was a pleasure to Pippin to be back at Crickhollow in many ways. No one watched his movements or observed how much food he ate; no one knocked on the door to his room at unearthly hours of the morning; no one twitted him about his height or weight or bachelorhood or cleanliness or messiness.

During the following days he missed Diamond in a way that was at once intensely present and yet abstract - they had done no more than kiss, secret kisses, when they saw each other in Took Bank, and he thought of her lithe body and curving lips with powerful yearning. He had learned in his earlier travels, though, that pleasure deferred was often pleasure sweetened, and so he enjoyed his longing in a way his younger self would have found unimaginable.

He spent his days packing until he could stand it no more, then he rambled again, through the woods and fields, greening rapidly with spring until the long views through bare branches were gone, obscured in a growing cloud of verdure. The sun might smile upon him, or the rain might chill him to the bone, but there were no more freezes. He rode to Buckland one fine day with Merry, and they spent the night there. Then home and packing again until another fresh day lured him away. He also spent a day on Guard, patrolling with newer members and gently instructing them in the differences between responsibility and rigidity. And of course he was no stranger at the pub, where he rewarded himself in the evenings for his daytime diligence with a tankard of ale, or perhaps two. He sat with Merry, Sam, Freddy, or Berilac when the opportunity offered, and enjoyed himself almost as of old.

His dreams grew less vivid, but still he sometimes woke with clammy skin and a racing heart. He lay in the dark looking up at the rafters and trying to remember what was real and what memory, what was imagining and what was truth, coming gradually to himself as his muscles unknotted. Some of the poison seemed to be draining away, and he was grateful for the mornings when he woke up from a sound sleep and saw only the pale light of morning, felt only refreshment and ease.

Early on the morning of March twenty-fourth he saddled Surefoot and rode her at a trot to Diamond's small farm. It was a cloudy day, and chilly, but a freshness to the wind foretold clear skies to follow. Her farmstead looked cozy and welcoming, with smoke streaming in a thin line from the chimney.

The door was opened almost before he knocked. "Come in," she said, and he did, stepping inside and into her embrace. She looked at him for a long moment, reaching up to trace the almost-healed line of his wound, across his forehead and into his curly hair. He bent down and kissed her, just as he'd wanted to do for the past ten days and more.

With the door securely shut behind him they reaffirmed their mutual affection for a good long while. When they rose it was to eat a meal together and then sit close, quietly speaking of this and that: the trip: what needed to be taken: how much she might buy: how much she might sell: the hobbits and Men of Bree: Barliman Butterbur: the _Inn of the Prancing Pony_.

Comfortable silence fell, and Pippin took a deep breath and spoke the daring words again: "Will you be my wife?"

"Ask me another time," she replied. He nodded and they sat quiet again, hands entwined across the table. At last she stood. "Well, I have all my things packed; it's only for you to say whether I have taken too much or too little."

He followed her into the kitchen and inspected the bags lying by the back door. There were only two, and they small. "What have you packed?" he asked, unwilling to rummage through them.

She ticked off items on her fingers. "Clothing for warmth and cold. Boots in case of mud or snow - snow's been known as late as April," she forestalled him. "Two skeins of yarn, so as to compare quality and color, and one small rug, so as to show what I do to any who may want to know. A length of rope. My blanket and cloak, tinder and flint, a good stout knife and," she looked sidelong at him, "at least one Captain of the Guard." She smiled.

"The useful one," he affirmed, lips twitching. "That should be fine. Surefoot can carry both them and you to Buckland - I'll lead her. Once we arrive there your things can be put in a wain and we can both ride." He stretched to his toes, pressing his fingertips briefly against the low wooden ceiling. "Are you ready?"

"Just let me fetch a cap and bank the fire and I shall be," she said.

As he saddled Surefoot again and slung Diamond's light bags beside his scant pack, he looked about the dim shed for her rangy cat. "Where is Gimli?"

"Ah," said Diamond, "I was afraid he'd grow lonely, so I took him to stay with Farmer Brownlock. He has a swarm of the creatures, and once Gimli had got over his outrage, he settled onto Mistress Brownlock's lap and hasn't moved since. Ungrateful wretch," Diamond added as they walked out into the silvery light of late morning.

"Indeed," said Pippin. "Well, I daresay he is adaptable, like his mistress. Up you go." He lifted Diamond easily into the saddle and they set off. She felt unsteady, alone upon the mare, but soon settled into the rhythm of the walk and began to enjoy herself. The sun, though veiled by cloud, was bright, and the diffuse light made for easy seeing. They walked south until they reached the great East-West road, and then turned to the left, toward Buckland and the East Farthing.

As they walked the wind freshened, and the clouds began to break, until at last, just when they stopped to eat luncheon, there was more sunlight than shadow, and the warm rays balanced the chilly wind perfectly. They sat beside the road to eat, then walked on in the dappled day, fat clouds and bright sun moving over their heads.

When it began to grow dark they went off the road a little way, and set up a bare camp in a small hollow out of the wind. Pippin kissed Diamond again and again - her hands, eyes, and lips. They went back to their short journey smiling the next morning.

They talked through the morning as they traveled; ate a quick lunch and then walked in quiet for a time, Peregrin's hand on Surefoot's rein and Diamond perched high on the chestnut back. Then, "Sing me a song," she said.

Pippin smiled. "I shall sing you one, and you may tell me how you like it," he said. He never needed much encouragement to sing, and his voice was high and clear in the fresh air:

_High of brow and fair of face,  
He strode across the northern mead.  
Through cloud and sunlight, rain and snow,  
There were none could match his deed._

White Rider, Kings, and Elven lords -  
His fellowship they claimed.  
His friends were many, farthest flung -  
His enemies, unnamed.

Oft he toiled in pain and grief;  
His trials cold, unknown.  
And there were none to sing his praise  
Because he paced alone.

He loved a maiden, fair and wise  
But even from her went  
To battle drawn upon the plain;  
To stride where he was sent.

The dead he mastered and the living:  
Both came at his call.  
Across the earth he paced like flame:  
Dark-haired, grey-eyed, and tall.

A shattered sword came to his hand  
That he alone could wield;  
A shattered crown came to his head  
And by him was it healed.

When the last note died they walked on for some few paces before she spoke. "I should tell you how I like it," said Diamond, "but I do not know. I feel as though I liked it well enough, but it is a subject I know little of. Whose words are they?" Pippin smiled, and did not reply, by which she knew that he had framed the words himself. "You thought to trap me into saying something either kind or cruel," she said, and laughed.

"No, not at all," he protested. "I just wanted to see what you thought. As I have." His mouth curved in a smile. "Have you never set word to song?"

"Yes, somewhat," she said. "But my voice is not as sweet as yours."

"I have not heard you sing," said Pippin. "But I thought you chose not to."

"And so I do," she said. The sun was beginning to wester and their shadows went before them, sharp-edged in the bright light. "But I will sing for you, if you wish it." Her face looked not at him but away down the road toward the east. If her voice, when she began, was not as sweet as his, it was true. Rich, too: a clarinet, perhaps, where his was a silver horn. Surefoot's ears flicked back to listen as Diamond sang:

_Hands are tired, shoulders weary;  
Feet are dirty, knees are sore;  
So I come from garden days, dear,  
Home to where you are._

Fingers flagging, eyelids sagging,  
Back is aching from the chore;  
So I come from days of weaving,  
Home to where you are.

Home is where the fire burns,  
Home is where my spent heart yearns,  
Home is where my feet will turn,  
Home to where you are.

A candle in the window glows,  
Hearth-laid fire flickers far.  
I am drawn back by my thoughts,  
Home to where you are.

Laughter wakes my weary mind;  
Above the roof I spy a star.  
I step across the threshold, dear,  
Home to where you are.

Home is where the fire burns,  
Home is where my spent heart yearns,  
Home is where my feet will turn,  
Home to where you are.

"That's lovely," said Pippin sincerely. "I haven't heard the words or the tune before."

"That's because I haven't sung them before," she said tartly. But she was blushing, he saw, and although she was pleased, she was also a little sad.

He thought she must be remembering her husband, and decided to brave the subject. "You've never told me about your, your Will," he said, trepidation in his heart but his voice steady.

She looked down at his face, then at her own hands, motionless on the horn of the saddle. "What do you want to know?"

"I don't know," replied Pippin. He thought. "What kind of person was he?"

She pondered for a few minutes. They were coming out of the sparse woods and to the farmed fields that led down to the Brandywine - still a good league away. They could see the hills reaching down in a gentle fall toward the dark line of trees that marked the river; beyond them were higher hills and then, just at the edge of their sight, a low green line where the Old Forest stood watch on the very border of the Shire. Diamond looked at all this as they went, and then spoke. "He was a good person - quiet. Much quieter than me. And older than me by more than a few years, but still young. He had forty-five years when we married. He was slow - not stupid, but deliberate in his movements, and slow in making judgments. I think marrying me only two years after meeting was the hastiest thing he ever did," she said. "When you spoke about the Ents it made me think of Willman Greenbuckle. He would have agreed with them - 'Don't be hasty' might have been his own motto." She paused. "He was very kind. To me, and to others. There was nothing at all mean about him."

"So how did he fall foul of the Men, and find his way to the Lockholes?"

"Well, he was deliberate, as I said, and he loved tradition, which of course those Men and them that followed them were against. And he was shrewd in his way, but not guarded. He saw quickly that the Men didn't bode any good for the Shire, and he spoke out against them, in his quiet way. But he spoke with some who were louder, and was with them when they were thrown into the Lockholes. He was the only one who died - he sickened when the weather turned cold, and they wouldn't let anyone in to nurse him." Her voice was hard, and Pippin wondered if he should not have asked. She sighed, though, and went on in a different voice.

"It was a hard time. My family rallied round, or tried to, but I sent them away - I didn't want anyone else to be taken up." The road curved and led down into a vale, and tree-shadows fell across them. Her voice went on. "It caused some bad feelings, I think - well, I know. They still do talk to me, but mostly they stay out of my life - I did not handle things well after Will's death, I was a short-tempered unkind inconsiderate hasty shrew to everyone who crossed my path." She made a face. "I said some right cruel things to my family."

Pippin looked up at her. "What's past is done, but you could change things, perhaps, if you tried."

"Yes, I know. It is just getting up the courage to do it - I was alone for a long time," she said. Her lips were pressed thin, eyes sad.

"You were," assented Pippin. He paused. "Your Will must have been a good fellow. I'd like to have known him. He sounds... he sounds very different from me." The words slipped out and he bent his head down, cursing his foolish tongue.

She glanced at the top of his head, then at his hand, suddenly tight on the lead rope. She smiled, and he heard it in her voice when she spoke. "As different as fish and fowl," she agreed. "Still, he would have liked you, too." They paced on and came out of the copse of trees. "What is that darkness on the horizon there?" she asked, pointing.

"That's the Old Forest - you saw it when we came to Crickhollow, remember? We're quite near where we're going. Tonight we'll sleep at Brandy Hall, as I said, and leave the Shire tomorrow after breakfast."

She shivered a little. "I will be further from home than I've ever been," she said. "Leaving the Shire... It has such a strange sound to it."

Pippin nodded, and they walked on.

~*~

Brandy Hall swarmed with activity, but it was hard to say whether it was because of the morrow's journey or just the usual hubbub. Pippin walked Surefoot into the ants' nest and was greeted boisterously by a dozen cousins and friends before they'd got halfway to the stables, where, he was assured, Mr. Merry was getting two wagons ready for the trip.

Pippin didn't introduce Diamond formally to any of these young hobbits, but they didn't seem to mind -- they trotted alongside the pony, said a cheery Hullo to her, and then continued to speak with Pippin until they returned or were called away to other tasks. Pippin brought Diamond and Surefoot around the main bulk of the Hall to where the stables were carved into a smaller hill. Outside the paddocks were two small wagons, being inspected, climbed on, and clambered over by a bewildering variety of people.

Peregrin led Surefoot right up to one of the wagons and stopped, then, ignoring the three people chattering at him, courteously helped Diamond down from the mare's back. "Don't mind the Bucklanders," he whispered as she slid down, stifling her winces. "These are the younglings, they mean no disrespect."

"I do not mind them," she said, and then staggered a little at the hard dirt beneath her feet, after so many miles astride the broad back of the little horse.

"You'll find their elders better spoken," he said, and they both turned at a hail. It was Meriadoc Brandybuck, coming round one of the carts to greet them.

And certainly he was courteous enough, bending low over her hand and speaking kind words of welcome. Pippin smiled to see the self-possessed Diamond blushing a little, but she answered calmly enough, assuring him that she was happy to be there, looked forward to the morning's journey, and had enjoyed her first taste of traveling.

"And who wouldn't, with such a companion," said Merry, grinning at Pippin.

Pip shot him a dagger-like look. "You do me too much honor, my friend," he said. "But Mistress Diamond has heard too many tales of you and I to suddenly believe you would speak so kindly."

Diamond laughed. "Yet he speaks truly, and means well by it," she said. "Your cousin prices you high, Peregrin, and you should not sell yourself less dear."

Pippin looked from one to the other of them. "So this is how it shall be, is it? My cousins arrayed together, to make me look the fool." He sighed in mock exasperation, but was secretly glad that she and Merry seemed to understand one another; indeed, before supper was closed they were calling one another "Merry" and "Diamond," and seemed to agree quite well.

Diamond was led away after the meal to a guest room, and Pippin, by old habit, went with Merry to his little suite, through a warren of halls and rooms and tunnels. They stepped inside and Merry lit the lamp, then they both got ready for bed and lay down.

"No sense in staying up late if we want to leave before second breakfast," Merry said. He blew out the lamp.

"No, I agree." Then Pippin lay staring at the ceiling - he seemed to do a lot of that - and wanting to ask Merry a question. He tossed and turned, until, ten minutes later, he heard Merry sigh.

"Oh, for the sake of all the books in Rivendell," said Merry. "Out with it."

"What do you think of Diamond?" Pippin asked.

Merry laughed from the darkness beside him. "Lor, is that all? I think she's lovely. I like her quite a lot, just from the little I've spoken to her. And she comes recommended by you, so of course I am predisposed to like her in any case." He turned in his bed. "Now go to sleep, Pippin. She certainly has my approval."

Pippin smiled to himself, turned over, and fell asleep.

~*~

The next morning he and Merry were up before dawn; they ate sitting by themselves at one of the long dining tables. They didn't speak much, but just before he finished his porridge, Merry snorted at some internal thought.

"What?" said Pippin curiously.

"You," said Merry, standing to take his bowl to the kitchen. "Like a moonstruck calf, you are. I'm looking forward to this trip _so much_." With that diabolical statement he strode away, laughing to himself.

"Oi!" said Pippin. "You just behave yourself, Meriadoc Brandybuck," he called after his friend. He wasn't particularly worried. Merry might twit him all he wanted, so long as he kept his own wits to answer.

He went outside into a damp grey morning and found Diamond standing beside a saddled and bridled Surefoot, looking rather lost. She brightened to see him. "Did you eat?" she asked.

"Yes, and you?"

"Yes, one of Merry's cousins came and got me at a ridiculous hour." She looked alert, though, and excited; her freckled cheeks were pink in the early morning chill, and her emerald eyes sparkled. She wore a split skirt of soft russet cloth, and a long leather jacket with brass buttons over it; a plain gray cloak covered all. Instead of her usual white lace cap she wore a soft leather hat with a brim, turned up at the moment, over her tightly braided hair. She looked pretty, dashing, and absurdly young. Pippin wore his Gondorian raiment: black tabard over a light coat of chain mail, with the Elven cloak and brooch of Lothlórien over it. When Merry strode up, he, too, wore his cloak of Elvish make, over his Rohan livery; the horn of Rohan hung from his belt, a beautiful object with chased silver horses spiraling round its length.

"All set?" he asked, rubbing his hands together. He didn't wait for them to answer. "The wagons are ready - and the fellows. Gerry got here all right," he added to Pippin, who nodded. "So off we go. I want to make Downhall Dell by late afternoon, there are good halting places near there." He looked around at the sky. "This shall likely burn off by mid-morning," he said. "We'll be glad of shade by the afternoon, I'd wager." He trotted off.

"Should we get up?" asked Diamond.

Pippin shrugged. "It'll take the wagons a few minutes to really get rolling," he said. "We want to ride ahead of them, but not in the lead - there's a Guardsman to do that. Merry will ride with us, on his pony." Diamond nodded and saw that his sword was strapped to a harness on Surefoot's shoulder. Pippin followed her eyes. "Quicker to reach, instead of fumbling under my cloak," he explained.

She nodded, but did not reply. They stood watching as the last of the hobbits climbed up into the wagons; there were nine of them all together: four Guards (all experienced beast handlers and mostly Bucklanders), Merry and Pippin, Diamond, Gerry, and another Brandybuck, Doderic (called Dodds).

Once everyone was in or up, Pippin lifted Diamond into the saddle and climbed up behind her; they moved up next to Merry, who sat on an excitable grey gelding. Surefoot flattened her ears at the youngster and he curvetted, dancing sidewise until Merry pulled his head firmly back round and reminded him of his business. "He'll settle once we've walked a bit," said Merry in response to Diamond's slightly apprehensive expression.

One of the Guard, a round-headed fellow called Andy Cobb, nudged his pony past Pippin and Diamond and led the way out the gate. Merry followed, then Surefoot, and behind Surefoot came the two little wagons, pulled easily by one sturdy draft pony apiece. Finally there was another mounted Guard at the rear. It seemed quite a procession. Every hobbit was well-armed: the Guards had their straight swords ready to hand, and three of them carried bows as well: each wagon carried an archer, and Andy had a quiver slung over his shoulder. Even Diamond had a stout knife strapped to her waist, as well as a small blade against her ankle, inside her boot. She felt strangely accoutered, and the hobbits looked decidedly odd to her eyes, all a-bristle with arrows and knives. She was accustomed to Pippin's sword, since he never walked without it, but now even it looked chancy and strange. The hilt rested just before her knee, and Pippin's brown hands on the reins, about her waist, were close to it.

"Pippin," she said after they had walked a while, north past the bulk of Brandy Hall's hill, "what would I do if we chanced to be attacked? I think I would be in your way, sitting in front of you as I am."

"You might be," he conceded. "I would probably like it best if you slid down and ran to one of the wagons." He looked at Merry, who nodded agreement.

"There are even spaces beneath the inside benches that would make excellent hiding places for a small lady like yourself," said Merry.

"But we won't be attacked," said Pippin.

"Very unlikely," said Merry.

Diamond felt comforted, and smiled at them both. "I shall trust that you are right," she said. "I am not really worried, but we certainly do look as though we were ready to be attacked."

"Better to look fiercer than you need be," said Merry. "Mostly." He and Pippin both thought of Frodo and Sam, sneaking through Mordor and invisible only because of their diminutive size. They thought about the moments in their own journeys when smallness, silence, secrecy had preserved them.

"Mostly," agreed Pippin.

Diamond looked from one to the other and saw the undercurrent of thought running between the two hobbits. She thought about fire, and battle, and the love that bound them in friendship. None of this showed on her face; it remained impassive, serene. They rode on.

~*~

Merry's prediction about the weather proved true, and by the time they reached the great East-West Road and turned toward Bree, the sun was breaking through the mist and the trees to either side of the road warbled with birdsong. Cloaks were removed and stuffed into saddlebags, or tossed to those in the wagons to be stowed away.

The Old Forest stood tall and dark on their right. Pippin, looking alertly through the trees, felt none of the brooding menace that had so oppressed him three years ago and more in this same woodland. Far off through the undergrowth he saw a deer, heavy with child, picking its way through the bracken, presumably to a place where it would sleep away the day. Rabbits bounded into and out of sight occasionally, and a weasel slunk fluidly past once. The road itself was empty except for their little party.

Merry and Pippin talked as they rode, of this and that, and Diamond inserted a word when she felt the need, or the expectation; but mostly she looked around at what she could see: trees to the right, and to the immediate left, cultivated fields; then rolling hills, gray and green with heather. She knew from her childhood in Long Cleeve that if she looked closely, she would see the heather's tiny purple flowers blooming. She almost wished the breeze would shift into the north, and bring her the high, fresh scent of the springtime moors.

"What do you think?" Pippin asked her suddenly, and she realized she had not been paying attention at all to their talk.

"Why, I don't know what to think," she admitted. "I was wool-gathering, watching the road and the fields."

Merry laughed. "A fitting pasttime for a weaver, wool-gathering," he said. "We were just speaking about luncheon. Pippin doesn't like to miss a meal, as you know."

Pippin threw Merry a look. "'Twasn't me moaning and groaning that there'd be no bacon left at the Guardhouse," he said.

"That's only because you didn't have to go and eat after yourself - you'd find yourself fair starved if you did."

Diamond broke in. "How does the topic of luncheon - today's luncheon - come into it?"

"Straight to the point," said Merry. "You and Master Samwise would get along. We were just discussing where and when we should stop, that's the heart of the matter. I think we should stop just up there, where the road curves round and there are trees to rest under."

"And I think we should go further - the further we travel this morning the quicker we can stop tonight," said Pippin. "What do you think?"

"As to that," said Diamond, "I have no opinion to speak of, whether I am paying attention or not. You might just as well ask a tree as ask me, for I've as little experience of travel as the average oak - uprooted once, but basically a stationary creature."

"Your horizons are expanding, then," said Merry.

"As we speak," she replied, smiling.

"And ride," added Pippin. "So Meriadoc, where are we stopping? It's your caravan, and your decision."

"And don't forget it, young Took," he said. "I think we shall stop at the trees. I'm getting blessed warm in this get-up, and I wouldn't mind a bit of shade. How you're not broiling, with black on and a pretty lady so close to boot, I don't understand."

"It's because we Tooks are naturally cool-headed, cousin, unlike you excitable Brandybuck types." The friends kept up their banter until they reached the halting place, when Merry called ahead to Andy to stop.

The wagons pulled off the road and all the hobbits climbed out and sat in a shady circle, eating a cold but hearty meal of bread, cheese, dried meat, and fruit, packed that morning with care in the Brandy Hall kitchens. A flask of ale went round for each to have a swallow, and Diamond took hers with the lads, to their general approval.

"It's right nice, havin' a lady along," said one driver audibly to the other. "Keeps us on our toes, like." The sentiment seemed to be prevalent, and they all smiled on Diamond. She felt a bit awkward, but smiled back as best she could.

Back in the saddle, with Pippin's arms around her and no one in earshot (Merry was riding beside Milo Hardbottle at the back for the moment), she sighed and settled herself back into his embrace. He leaned forward and spoke into her ear. "Are you doing well?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "Really. I'm enjoying myself tremendously. I just don't quite know what to do when everyone is looking at me."

"You're a lovely lady," Pippin said. "And we've none of us traveled with ladies - even Merry and I only made a small part of the journey back to the Shire in the company of ladies. And they were Elves, which hardly counts, since with Elves it doesn't matter if it's a Lord or a Lady, they are all so different and so far above a hobbit, if you take my meaning."

"I do, although I had to chase it through quite a thicket," said Diamond. "I am not all that different from a lad," she said, chasing her own thought.

"Different in many wonderful ways," said Pippin, his breath tickling her ear.

"Pippin," she said, and she meant, _Stop it, there are people about_.

"Why don't you be my wife, and then I can whisper in your ear whether anyone is looking or not," he whispered.

"Ask me another time," she murmured, smiling a little.

Pippin sighed. "I thought you might say that."

~*~

They rode the afternoon out, until their shadows were thrown far ahead on the rutted, grassy road. Merry went to the front and led them off their way and onto a faint track that curved north into a small stand of trees. The travelers found an old fire pit, blackened from years of use but obviously untouched since at least the prior season, and around it rude log benches.

The carts were pulled far into the circle of trees and the various ponies unharnessed or -saddled, rubbed down, and fed. When their oat bags were empty each animal was hobbled and let loose to graze, just as the sun slipped below the hills. The rhythmic sound of equine jaws tearing up and grinding the grass was soon lost in the homely crackle of a small fire. Pippin and Gerry fetched water from a small spring nearby; Bill and Callum Bracegirdle cooked supper. After dinner the hobbits smoked and sang, and then bedded down for the night.

The Guards took turn and turn about, on watch in pairs for four hours. Diamond was given the interior of a cart all to herself, while the others lay on bedrolls in the clearing. From where she lay, she could hear her companions' hushed voices. Pippin and Merry were closest to her cart, a vague, comforting murmur.

Looking up at the stars, Peregrin was supremely content. He and Merry spoke softly of other camps, other travels: the starless, sightless night and hard stone bed of Moria: the prickly, soft beds of heather in Quickbeam's house: scant hours in a cramped doze, snatched as Shadowfax galloped across mountain, plain, ford, and foothill. "I'll say this for Gandalf," said Pippin, "he made quite a comfortable bolster." They both giggled a little at that, and soon after fell asleep.

Pippin woke in the grey dawn. Others were stirring, and after he'd ducked his head in the spring, he went about getting the horses fed and groomed. He had just finished cleaning the last of Surefoot's hooves when Milo Hardbottle called that breakfast was ready. After a quick meal, they harnessed and saddled the animals. Diamond washed their pots and pans in the run-off from the spring, and the party mounted and moved off, yawning still in the brightening morning.

Back on the road they moved east at a steady walk. Bree lay about fifteen miles away, and they expected to arrive around tea time. The country changed little, except that the trees of the Old Forest faded and fell behind; despite a real love for woodlands, Merry and Pippin both felt a bit of relief. They spoke of Tom Bombadil and the lilting, lovely Goldberry, and Diamond listened attentively, picturing the slim Riverdaughter in her mind: water lilies about her bare feet, silver girdle, green dress, and long yellow hair.

"She sounds as lovely as an Elf," said Diamond.

"Different than an Elf, but somewhat the same," said Pippin, thinking about it. "The Elven ladies are sadder than Goldberry was, somehow."

"I would dearly love to see an Elf lady," said Diamond.

"Look in the mirror," said Merry suddenly. "You're half Elf yourself." Pippin, hearing his friend echoing his own private sentiment, glanced over and saw Meriadoc blushing furiously. He raised an eyebrow at him. Merry muttered something about needing to speak with Bill and pulled his pony round.

Diamond and Pippin rode in silence for a moment, looking ahead at Andy Cobb. "That was... odd," said Diamond. Pippin could hear displeasure in her voice - fear of being mocked, perhaps. "I don't know Merry well enough to know whether he meant to tease me or not."

"He wasn't teasing," said Pippin. "He was right - you do have an Elvish air. Not sad and high and lonely, like some Elves are, some of the time. But you are slim and light and, and, well, I don't know." He searched for the right words. "Something Elvish, that's all. The way you walk, perhaps. How you hold you head."

"Peregrin Took," she said severely. "How you do go on."

"Yes, I do, don't I?" he agreed. "Nevertheless, it's true."

"Oh, hush yourself," she said, but he thought she might have been pleased.

~*~

They stopped at midday for luncheon and then moved on. The country was growing hilly, and as they neared Bree they saw other traffic on the road, some of it moving toward the gates of the town, some away. Men, mostly, and although they weren't the first Diamond had seen by any means, she hadn't seen any in almost three years, since the aftermath of the Battle of Bywater, and she stiffened when they stared.

Pippin felt the movement. "Those are Breelanders," he said quietly. "Good folk, who live peaceably with their hobbit neighbors." She nodded slowly, but did not relax. "There will be many more where we are going," Pippin pointed out.

"I know, I know," said Diamond. "They make me nervous, though. They are so large."

"And clumsy and noisy," Merry pointed out. "You can hear them coming a league away."

"Well, that's some comfort," said Diamond.

They approached the town from the west, and Diamond saw that other travelers had set up their tents and camps outside Bree's walls. Although some of the camps looked comfortable enough, she was glad to have a room waiting, and a hot bath. They reached the gates and were let through with no fuss, although the gatekeeper did stare. "Come all the way from the Shire?" he said.

"For the beast fair," said Merry.

"Aye, it do bring 'em out," said the scruffy man, and held the gate as they passed.

Merry waved and took the lead, beside Andy, and threaded his way through the busy streets to _The Prancing Pony_. The carts pulled all the way into the courtyard, and Pippin saw the familiar figures of Bob and Nob hurrying to them. He slid down off Surefoot with a stifled groan - two long days of riding had taken their toll, and he felt as stiff as a starched shirt - and then courteously helped Diamond down. Merry had things well in hand, so Pippin led Diamond, Callum, and Gerry inside. Andy, Milo, Bill, and Dodds stayed with Merry to help in getting the bags and ponies safely stowed. Pippin approached the high counter fearlessly and called out: "Oi, there - the house!"

Barliman Butterbur looked just as he had three years ago, when last Pippin came this route, and his round face was wreathed in smiles when he bustled up and saw the hobbits. "Ah, my little friends!" he cried. "You arrived in plenty of time, true to your hour." He spoke right over Pippin's affirmative. "I've a lovely set of rooms for all of you, and no doubt Bob and Nob are helping Mister - Mister - Mr. Brandybuck with the baggage and beasts." He came around the counter and led the four hobbits through a bewildering maze of corridors. "I've had the rooms freshened just this morning, and clean linens on all the beds. There are eight of you, plus a lady, I was told -" he swung round and peered curiously down at Diamond, who dropped a small curtsey. "Well, well, and so it's true, welcome to _The Prancing Pony_, miss, you'll be having a room to yourself I suppose, I have it all ready just as the others, though I hardly believed it was true, a young hobbit lass traveling so far."

"Mistress Greenbuckle -" and Pippin put just the slightest emphasis on the title - "is an accomplished weaver, here to haggle with the fine dyers of Bree."

"Is that so?" Butterbur began his hurrying again and the hobbits stretched their short legs to keep up with his twinkling feet. "Well and you'll find many talented dyers here, Mistress -" he stopped again and turned to look at her, dawning horror on his face. "Oh, my - _mistress_, did you say? - and you must be married to one of these fine little people," he looked at the three lads, who gazed back with various faces: amusement, amazement, daft incomprehension, "and here I've made ready only a single room -"

"I am a widow," Diamond said firmly, cutting him off. "Though I thank you for your kind thoughtfulness, a single room will do admirably well. Indeed, more would be a sad waste."

"Well, well," he said again. "And a fine-spoken lady in the bargain, thank you kindly then, you've put my mind right at ease, so you have -" He fumbled with his keys and opened a door onto a suite of rooms. "There are three bedrooms and a parlor, as you see, plenty of room," he waved his hand at the low rooms, complete with hobbit-sized beds and tables, "And here the next door down the hall," he beckoned to Diamond, "this is your room, Mistress Greenbuckle, did you say?" It was a cozy pair of rooms: small couches and tables in a sitting room and a bedroom tucked back under the hill, just as hobbits liked best.

"Yes, this is lovely, thank you very much," said Diamond, unable to maintain any sense of unease in the face of the talkative innkeeper, no matter how physically overpowering he might be.

They all heard Merry coming along the passage with the others, and Butterbur hurried to lead them onward. Callum and Gerry went into their suite, and Pippin came along the hall to Diamond. He peered into her rooms. "How do you like it?" he asked.

"Indeed, I hardly know what to think, except that it's lovely." She smiled. "I can hardly hear myself to think that, over the innkeeper's talk - he makes you look silent as a swan."

"Instead of my usual magpie self?" said Pippin, laughing. "Yes, even I have my match in talking when it comes to Barliman Butterbur. But he's a good man, and admirably suited for what he does." He looked back and waved to Merry and the others as Barliman led them into their suite. "Do you want to look around the market this afternoon?" he asked. "Or would you prefer to stay in?"

"I've no intention of staying in," Diamond said firmly. "I didn't come so far to sit tamely in my rooms, no matter how comfortable they look. Only let me change my travel clothes, and I will be with you. Where are those young rogues with my bags?" she muttered, peering over his shoulder.

Just then Dodds came puffing along the corridor, having carried Diamond's two packs mistakenly into the lads' rooms. "Sorry, my lady," he said. "Here you are, delivered safer than the Quick Post itself."

"And in better time," she smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Dodds." He touched his knuckle to his forehead and ducked back to the other rooms.

"Shall I come and fetch you in half an hour, then?" said Pippin.

"Thank you, Pippin, I shall listen for your knock."


	7. ...of Hobbits and Dwarves

The Bree Beast Market was once famous, and in the years since the return of the King had expanded almost to its old magnificence (having been sadly reduced during the rough decades before). It included not only a beast market, where animals of every size and shape could be bought and sold, but also a craft market and a daily food market to cater to the visitors who filled the town. Merry had made all the arrangements for their party weeks before, which was a lucky thing, thought Pippin, as he saw the crowds of people swarming the market stalls. He, Merry, and Diamond felt small as they pushed politely through, although they saw other hobbits, who stared and bowed. The Men paid no attention to them, unless they stopped to look at goods, in which case they were treated as courteously as any other potential buyer.

Diamond looked around at the people so much that she had little attention to spare for the merchandise. Pippin held her arm and gently steered her from one booth to the next. "Look!" he said, bending down to her ear, "there is a person you won't see often in the Shire." She followed his gaze and saw two dwarves thrusting their stolid way through the masses. She had indeed never seen a Dwarf, not living close to the East-West Road which they sometimes traveled through the Shire, and she inspected them carefully. They were broad and heavy, and looked immensely strong; each wore a mail coat and cap, and had a thick, luxuriant beard tucked into his belt.

"Where are their axes?" she asked.

"No one carries weapons in the market," said Merry, and she noticed for the first time that neither he nor Pippin wore his sword at his waist. She nodded at this bit of common sense, and watched the Dwarves until they disappeared in the crowd.

"It's a shame there are not likely to be any Elves here," said Pippin.

"No, they've little need for things like these," said Merry.

Diamond wrenched her attention away from the Men and looked for something familiar. Two rows over she saw it, a stall where cloth was being sold. She began making her way toward it, followed by Pippin and Merry.

The seller was a woman, to Diamond's surprise. She glanced at her and then at her wares, fingering the soft rich finery, and then moving back to the bolts of sturdier cloth, meant for everyday wear. Right at the back of the stall were shelves holding buttons and thread and other small items. Diamond leaned over the threads. "May I?" she asked the craftswoman, and she carried two skeins to the front of the shop to look at their colors.

"Have you anything in a saffrony yellow?" asked Diamond, and she and the woman fell to talking about color and dye and length of wear. Pippin and Merry stood at the front of the shop, shifting from foot to foot.

"You want to speak with Mr. Bloom," said the shopkeeper at last. "He's a stall down from the armorers', that-a-way," she pointed.

"Thank you, Mistress," said Diamond. "I'll just take a length of this olive-colored thread, then, shall I?" She gave the woman a ha'penny and took her change, then turned to Pippin and Merry. "Thank you for waiting," she said, tucking the thread into a pocket of her skirt. "I'd like to wander that way, if you please."

They did please, and followed obediently as she walked toward the dyer's booth. It smelled strongly of vinegar and tannin, with whiffs of herbs and flowers drifting through occasionally. Pippin watched her march up to the tall, thin man behind the makeshift counter and begin to speak. For a while Pippin just looked at her, admiring her small figure and proud head; then he grew bored and began looking about. Merry nudged him: "Look." It was the two Dwarves; they'd a booth of their own, selling armor and weaponry.

The two hobbits looked longingly at it, then at Diamond, deep in conversation with the man, who towered above her but listened to her with deference. "Go on," said Pippin. "I'll stay here with her."

She turned. "Don't be silly," she said. "Go and look at other goods, I'll be some time here and your eyes will fall out of your head if you stare any harder at that stall."

Merry laughed and pulled Pippin away before he could protest. "We'll be right next door."

"We're right here if you want us," Pippin said to Diamond as he was pulled away. "Just call out when you're ready."

Diamond waved him away and he and Merry trotted over to see what the Dwarves had on display. There were knives and swords, axes and mail. One table held nothing but fantastically wrought jewelry; another held cunning caps and proud helms. Everything was in sizes meant for Men.

"You've nothing here for folk our size," said Merry, unabashedly trying to lift an enormous broadsword.

The Dwarves both laughed. "Aye, small folk need swords too, do they not?" said one. "Try this for a sword, lad." He handed a long sheathed knife to Merry, who drew it and examined it carefully.

"Nice work, gentlemen, but not as fine as the one I left off this morning," said Pippin; his cloak fell open as he reached out and ran one finger along the blade.

The Dwarf looked closely at Pippin. "You are not dressed as your people usually dress," he said. "That looks like the tree of Gondor." He held out his hand in introduction. "I am Nordri, and this is my brother Sudri, the sons of Regin, son of Asutrin. We come from the Lonely Mountain, traveling from one fair to the next selling our family's goods."

"I am Peregrin Took, son of Paladin, son of Adalgrim, at your service and that of your family." said Pippin.

Merry stepped forward. "Meriadoc Brandybuck, son of Saradoc, son of Rorimac, at your service. We both come from the Shire, west of here."

Nordri peered at Merry. "And you look to wear the livery of Rohan. What strange chance brings two halflings to wear the garb of lands so distant, and of another folk?"

"That tale would take too long to tell, standing here in the market," said Pippin. "But your king-that-was, Dain Ironfoot, knew an uncle of ours, Bilbo Baggins, if that begins to tell it."

The two Dwarves looked at each other, then at the hobbits. "Then you are two of the halflings who traveled with the Ringbearer?" they asked in low tones.

"We are," said Merry, "and if you know that tale, then you can imagine how we came by this garb."

"Imagine, but not know," said Sudri. "Come, let us hear the tale, if not now then later. Our kin under the Lonely Mountain owe a debt to your kin, and although greater and more fell deeds have taken place since the Battle of Five Armies, we owe it still. I would lief hear a story from those who are related to Bilbo Ringfinder."

"There is no debt," said Merry. "But tale-trading, especially over a tankard of ale and a pipe, is never something our folk take amiss."

"Perhaps you will tell us the tale of Dale and the battle at the Mountain's feet," suggested Pippin.

"We would like that of all things," said Nordri. "Where shall we meet?"

"We're at the Prancing Pony," said Pippin. "Perhaps after suppertime we could smoke a pipe and trade a tale or two in the common room."

"Aye, that sounds fine. And you can show me that blade that you say is finer than what you see here," said Nordri.

"This, though," said Merry, turning from the table he'd been examining, and lifting something fragile and delicate from it, "this is fit for a queen." He handed it to Pippin.

It was a necklace, finely wrought as spidersilk, glimmering silver even in the shade of the booth. Thin silver leaves curled along thin silver vines, and five morning-glory blossoms, cunningly worked in silver and lapis lazuli, completed the gossamer adornment.

As Pippin held it he could see the vines that climbed over the fence and gate of Diamond's little house, just as he had seen them first on a hot midsummer morning. "Very nice," he said, trying to maintain some semblance of distance, although he knew then and there that he wanted it and wanted it badly. But there was no sense in letting on to the two avid Dwarves, he thought, handing it back to Merry with only inward reluctance.

"That's fine work, that is," said Sudri. "Made under the Mountain itself, you know. You have a good eye, Mr. Meriadoc."

Just then Pippin felt a tap on the back and he turned to see Diamond, clutching a twist of paper. "I've done," she said. "And I'm hungry, and fairly longing for a bath."

"I'll escort you back to the inn," Pippin said at once. "Shall we meet again later?" This to the Dwarves.

"Certainly, good sir," they both said, and with goodwill they and the hobbits parted, Merry electing to come back with Diamond and Peregrin to the _Prancing Pony_, where, as he said, he could open his mouth on food instead of air for a while.

~*~

The Dwarves sat talking with Pippin and Merry far into the night. Diamond and the other hobbits sat in the tavern for a while, but she felt conspicuous to the point of discomfort, and the noisy room was far too crowded. She was interested in the Dwarves, indeed, but soon she began to feel hemmed in, and she excused herself with a quick curtsey. She waved to Pippin, when he began to stand, that he need not accompany her, and went to her little rooms with relief.

Pippin watched her thread through the busy room, still half-risen out of his chair. When he settled back into it and turned back to face Merry and the two Dwarves (the other six hobbits were at another table, chatting with local hobbits), they were grinning at him, even the two who hardly knew him, teeth shining through their beards.

"So that's the queen who's fit for that necklace, I take it," rumbled Sudri.

"I've no idea what you're speaking of," said Pippin. "Where were we?"

"I was telling you of the attack on Dale... and it's thirsty work," said Nordri, looking mournfully into his empty flagon.

"Oh, no," said Merry. "We bought the last round. It's your turn."

The two stout warriors made a token protest, but worked their slow way to the bar, leaving Merry and Pippin alone at the table. "Don't be so knowing, Merry," said Pippin. "I do want that necklace, but I don't want to pay for it with mithrail - don't give me away so much to them."

"You give yourself away," said Merry. "But never mind that now. Do you see that table over there? Those ill-favored fellows have been watching us all evening. What do you make of them?"

Pippin scanned the room casually until he could glance at the table Merry indicated with his eyes. "I make them out to be a right parcel of bad business hard-horse guttersnipe blackguard wastrels," he said, turning back to face his cousin, "as Diamond might say."

The Men did indeed look ill-favored, a knavish air that had nothing to do with poverty and everything to do with want. Pippin had seen eyes like that outside the walls of Gondor, and outside the gates of Mordor; he had seen those eyes looking at him from Bill Ferny's face, and from the faces of the Men he and Merry had helped protect the Shire from not a month ago.

"That's what I thought," Merry said. "One of them reminds me of Wormtongue." Both hobbits shuddered a bit. "Well, let's just keep our eyes open. Chances are they're more interested in the Dwarves than a few meagre hobbits."

"We should say something to Nordri and Sudri," said Pippin.

"Leave it to me," said Merry.

The Dwarves were back, carrying four frothy mugs of Butterbur's best dark ale. "Your health and prosperity," said Merry, lifting his mug to them.

"And yours and your family's," said the Dwarves; they drank.

"In furtherance of prosperity..." said Merry. He indicated the table behind Pippin with a twitch of his eyebrows. "Just thought you might like to know, those characters have been paying rather close attention to our table for a while."

Nordri turned in his chair and stared right at the Men. He turned back and snorted his derision. "Jackanapes," he growled. "They can stare all they like, they've not the mettle to attempt any foolishness with two well-armed Dwarves."

"And your party, too, is well-armed," added Sudri. "Like as not they stare at what they cannot have, because they haven't the sense or skill to earn what they want."

"Like as not," agreed Nordri. "Now where was I? Ah, yes, the third day of the battle..."

~*~

The next day found Diamond at the market early, escorted by young Gerry Took. "Thank goodness there's at least one Took who's an early riser," she said dryly.

"Oh, not really, my lady," he said. "But I didn't get to see the market yesterday."

Diamond smiled to herself. Perhaps subtlety skipped generations, or came with age. "I'm not sure you'll enjoy what I'm planning," she warned the young hobbit.

"I'll enjoy everything," he promised stoutly. "As long as I am not forced to eat boiled greens, or sit at a desk chanting names of ancestors, I will enjoy it."

"I can almost guarantee that you won't suffer either of those fates," Diamond laughed. She strode quickly through the lines of animals, noses deep in feed bags at this hour, to get to the crafters' stalls, the aisles of grass between them fairly empty for the nonce. "Tell me," she said as they walked, "how do you come to have the surname Took? I thought your mother's surname to be Took, as she is Mr. Peregrin's sister, but did she keep her name after her marriage?"

"My mother is a Took, certainly, my lady, but so is my father - we're a large, rambling clan, as you must know. My father is my mother's third cousin once removed, and so she never had to change her name - or she took his name without losing hers, you might say."

"I see," she said. "I had wondered, thank you for explaining it." She smiled at him as they walked. Soon her pace slowed and she spent hours - _literal hours!_ thought Gerry - poring over yarns and colored fabric, cakes or tablets of harsh-smelling dye, threads of every color, thickness, and heft. She sat down with one crafter after another, speaking of wear and exposure to sunlight and feet, the take and weight and power of each color. She drank tea and nibbled cakes, and Gerry did, too, but he stayed quiet. The colors alone began to make his eyes hurt, and his head spun with words for colors he'd never known existed: cobalt, heliotrope, violaceous, titian, bittersweet, veridian, cerise. The recipes for the dyes themselves sometimes sounded familiar, but more often clanged like the strange words of an incantation: alkali, lime, muriatia, sulphate, vitriol, alum.

At last - at _last_ \- she turned away from a vendor to him. "Poor boy," she said, "you've stood up nobly through it all, but I know I'm ready for elevenses, and I'm certain you're well beyond ready." She smiled and offered her elbow; a full basket swung from her other arm. The market was crowded now, and it took them some time to come out into the main street, where they could make their way more quickly toward _The Prancing Pony_.

Once there, she sent Gerry away to the common room, to see who he could find to eat with, and went with relief into her own rooms. A pull on the bell had luncheon (she had missed elevenses) on the way, and while she waited for the food she emptied her basket and looked over her finds. The dyers of Bree did indeed know things she had never learned, and she lifted the packets and twists of paper with reverence, inspecting them again and gloating.

A knock came at the door. She stood, reading over a sheet of written instructions on how to achieve a truly blinding scarlet, and crossed to the door, opening it absently.

It was not her lunch. It was a Man - not one of the inn's men - hulking there, and she stood still, looking up at him, holding the paper in her hand. "May I help you?" she asked steadily, although her heart was beating fast. She did not like the look of him at all, and it took everything she had not to step back when he leered forward, trying to see past her into the room.

"I don't expect so," he said, lurching a step closer. His breath was foul, and an air of menace hung about him, although his tone was oily. "I expect I knocked on the wrong door." He ignored her, eyes flickering over what he could see behind her.

"Well then, you'll excuse me," she said, and, stepping back, began to close the door on him.

"No, no, excuse _me_," he said, but somehow his shoulder was in the way of the door. "You in here all on your own, miss?" he said.

"No, she is not," came a new voice - Merry's, and she struggled to keep her face impassive as he strode down the corridor. "I'm afraid you've come to quite the wrong part of the house," he said, inserting himself beside Diamond, so that the big stranger had no choice but to step back. "These rooms are only for little folk. You'll be wanting the other wing, no doubt. Excuse me," and he shut the door firmly, locking it with a solid snick.

The two hobbits stood silent, poised and listening. After a moment they heard a heavy tread moving away down the hall.

"Merry!" she said, turning to him and laying one hand on his arm. "Your arrival was most timely."

"I was just coming to get my money purse," he said. "That man - I saw him last night in the common room, with a bunch of other fellows not nearly so pleasant looking."

"I thought it was my food arrived," she said, lifting her hand (it was shaking slightly, she noticed) and moving away, anger rising. "What cheek!" she exclaimed. "Foul presumptuous insolent froward brute!" She realized that she had crumpled the paper with the dyer's instructions on it, and smoothed it out again, laying it carefully on the small table. She straightened and stood rigid as a ramrod, her back to Merry. "He looked just as those filthy dogs who ravaged the Shire looked."

"By your leave," said Merry, "perhaps you should come and sit with Pippin and me in the common room. You can lock your door behind you, and only you have a key."

"Keeping me safe, are you?" she asked, turning; but she plucked her shawl from its hook. "I'll have to tell the kitchen not to send my lunch here."

"Keeping the scoundrel safe from you, rather," he said, opening the door. "I hate to think what you'd do to him if he came back."

~*~

They sat together in the common room, along with the others of their party, and made a lively enough meal. But Diamond was ill-at-ease, and angry, and she glanced over her shoulder again and again. Merry went off to speak with Butterbur about the man.

"You can't stay alone in that room tonight," said Pippin in a low voice.

At this she smiled, the first smile he'd seen her wear since she came in. "And I suppose you think you are just the one to keep me company," she said, her quiet voice rippling with laughter.

"Not as things stand now," he said ruefully. "But at least two should come in with you - one to preserve the sanctity of your room, the other the sanctity of your reputation." She snorted in a very unladylike manner, but he persisted. "Diamond, have a care. The door is only so strong, and locks can be picked. At least let Merry and I sleep in the front room. Tomorrow we're off - I've found plenty of beasts; I'm to pay for them this afternoon, and Merry the same. Let us be cautious this last night."

"And what of your rooms?" she asked. "I don't think that man, and the others you spoke of, would scruple to pick your lock as well. They are like those swine who ran riot over the Shire - it's Men like those who cut down the Party Tree, and fouled Bywater Pool. Hobbits, armed or no, do not strike fear into the heart of a man like that, at least not until the sword is at his throat."

"Never you fear, we'll have at least one awake through the night," said Pippin. "And old Butterbur will do his part, too. I've no very real fear for you, but to chance leaving you alone would be imprudent." He put his hand on hers. "Don't you agree?"

She pressed her lips together, but nodded. "But I must return to the market this afternoon, and if I'm not to go alone, then give me two stout lads to walk about with - I've a few last purchases to make, myself, and I might as well have someone who can carry a bag as someone who cannot."

She spent the afternoon with Gerry again, as well as Callum Bracegirdle. Pippin and Merry finished their business, and, with the help of Milo Hardbottle, Bill Bracegirdle, Dodds Brandybuck, and Andy Cobb, brought the newly purchased ponies back to the inn and safely packed everything that could be packed in the wains, ready for the morning's departure. Diamond threw all their plans amuck, however, when she led Gerry and Callum into the stable yard, each of them staggering beneath the weight of as much raw wool and yarn as he could carry. One wagon's baggage had to be rearranged, amidst a certain amount of grousing. "I told you I wasn't finished buying," she said to them.

"'A few last purchases' does not convey the idea of a full hundredweight of wool to my mind," said Pippin, bending backward to ease the kinks out of his back after heaving one of the sacks into the wagon.

"Oh pish tosh," said Diamond. "A bare quarter bale and here you all are, falling apart. My brave protectors." She smiled at him, and his heart gave a reflexive leap.

"Have mercy," said Merry, climbing over the newly stowed goods and jumping to the ground. "You've reduced your brave protectors to mere dusty, hungry hobbits. Surely it's suppertime by now."

They went inside and sat down nine to dinner, all together at one noisy table. There was something of holiday about the gathering, now that their business was done and the journey home at hand; "It's just a little short journey," thought Pippin, looking around at his convivial friends, "but still it will be nice to be home again." His adventures had not cured him of a desire to see new sights and meet new peoples; indeed it had awoken a longing he'd hardly known he the depth of, as a youngster. But his long travels with the Fellowship had also made him value coming home - above all other gifts, the one he loved the most. He wondered if this could be conveyed to Diamond. Watching her wide eyes and alert face - watching her watch the room - he wondered if it would need to be conveyed, once the journey was through.

After they finished supper, the lads settled back with their pipes. Diamond threw off her worries and sat with them, observing for all she was worth, drinking in the strange sounds and sights of Bree so that she might carry them home with her. Several of the younger members of their group were dotted about the room, speaking animatedly with the Bree hobbits and trading tales.

The two Dwarves entered the room and came to sit with them. "How was trade?" asked Pippin.

"Fair, fair," said Sudri. He glanced pointedly at Diamond and then at Pippin. Pippin looked back, all innocence, internally damning the Dwarf as he saw Diamond's brow furrow.

"My fine Dwarves," Pippin said, to distract her, "Though you've smoked with us, I don't believe I've offered you any of the Shire's finest pipeweed, Longbottom Leaf, a sad gaffe as far as courtesy goes; let me fill your pipes now from my own wallet." The Dwarves reacted to this and the conversation moved on; neither Nordri nor Sudri made any other mention of the necklace he had paid a mint for earlier that day.

"This is fine indeed," said Sudri appreciatively. "I've had nothing as good as this in a month of Sundays." On this, his favorite subject, Merry could wax poetic, and Pippin let him, sitting back and taking in the sounds, smells, sights of the smoky, cheerful room.

"Would there be any welcome in the Shire for goods such as ours?" asked Nordri after a pipe or two.

Merry and Pippin looked at one another. "Why, to tell the truth, Master Dwarf, we of the Shire have little need of weaponry," said Merry. "We keep a Guard, it's true, but even that is a temporary affair, until more of the King's right Men settle in the Emyn Uial and the Evendium Hills -- once those lands are peaceful again, we'll have no need for even such watch as we have, and we'll go back to our own ways, which are quiet and undistinguished. We're not a warlike folk - we much prefer eating and drinking and tilling the earth to carrying blades."

"We do like fine work," said Pippin thoughtfully. "I remember that Bilbo ordered a lot of toys and suchlike from Dale for his hundred and eleventy-first birthday party - those are still treasured toys, not a mathom among 'em."

Merry nodded. "Yes, toys, jewels - not too fine, mind you -"

"That would be putting on airs -" inserted Pippin.

"- Those kinds of items would probably sell handsomely in the Shire."

Diamond spoke up. "But sold by who, is the question," she said. "No reflection on you fine Dwarves, and certainly no reflection of my own feelings, but most Shirefolk would not choose to come should you hang out a shingle in the Shire, even at a temporary fair like this one."

Pippin and Merry confirmed the truth of this. "But not all hobbits are so hidebound," said Pippin. "Merry, here, for instance, belongs to a family on the Eastern border which trades outside the Shire - and I've some say in my own family's trade as well."

"What you would need is a go-between," said Diamond knowingly.

"Or two," said Merry.

Nordri and Sudri guffawed into their beards. "These three are more Dwarvish than Dwarves," said Sudri to his brother.

"I do believe we're being done brown," agreed Nordri. "Listen, little folk. We must speak more of this with you - you in the Shire must have something worthy of trade. This leaf, for instance," he waved his fragrant pipe before them, "would sell decently in Dale." Merry and Pippin grinned at him. "All right, better than decently," admitted Nordri.

"If we're to talk of trading goods outside the Shire, we should bring Samwise into it," said Merry.

"Not the same Samwise who went with the Ringbearer and shared his burden!" cried Sudri.

"One and the same," said Pippin. "Slightly older, slightly rounder, infinitely wiser. He knows all there is to know about growing things."

"And he's respected," added Diamond. "If Mister Gamgee endorsed your trade, things would go easier on all sides."

"I see we must meet with him," said Nordri. "Listen, my fine hobbits, what would it be like should Sudri and I come to the Shire in, say... a fortnight?" He glanced at his brother, who nodded.

"You could stay with my family," said Merry. "I think we have some rooms that could accommodate you."

"And if you wish to come into the Shire _proper_," said Pippin, looking primly at Merry, "you can come and stay at the Smials." He winked at Diamond. "In for a twig, in for a tree," he said in an undertone, grinning; the sensation caused by having Dwarves wandering round the market in Tuckborough would far eclipse the small scandal of her journey to Bree.

The two Dwarves spoke more with both Merry and Pippin, and finally stood to leave, bowing over Diamond's hand and grasping Merry and Pippin's arms with iron-like grips. "We shall meet again in a fortnight," said Nordri. "Farewell for now." The Dwarves stumped from the room.

Conversation among the hobbits was just slowing when Barliman Butterbur came over and perched on the bench. Even sitting so low his bulk overpowered the diminutive halflings. "How was your supper, my friends?" He listened long enough to make sure the hobbits had all enjoyed the food, then rushed on at his habitual breakneck speed. "Those rough-looking Men left the Pony this afternoon, but they're still about town. I have my folk on alert, but you'd best be on your guard - we have a lot of doors, and of course there are guests coming and going most hours of the night, especially during the Market. And when you leave tomorrow be on your guard as well, Masters Peregrin and Meriadoc; if you take Barliman's advice you'll leave early and travel double quick to get back to the Shire in one day."

"I don't know that we can," said Merry, looking at Pippin dubiously, and then back at Butterbur. "With two loaded wains and the eight ponies we'll take back, I just don't think we can move quickly enough."

"Well at least don't stop in one of the usual camping places," said the innkeeper. "There's a place I know of, a bit further down the road than Downhall Dell would be." He described it to the hobbits in detail, and they listened closely, nodding. Then the rosy-cheeked innkeeper excused himself and bustled away again.

"Well, I'm for bed," said Merry. "Anyone else?"

The plan of Merry and Pippin sleeping in Diamond's front room had been approved by the other hobbits, and the six left in the other suite would take it in turn to sit awake, listening for any disturbance and keeping watch on their own door. The goods and beasts in the stable were well-guarded enough - there were extra staff sleeping there throughout the Market anyway, Men being what they were.


	8. Rain and Ruffians

As it happened, the night was peaceful - no knock, no sound, no hint of a noise. Merry slept on the little couch and Pippin across the door, and both of them woke in the morning when Diamond nudged them. "Awake, awake," she said, sitting on a chair and watching the two sleepers sit up, yawning. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Diamond," said Merry. "Well, it seems there was no need to test ourselves."

"And no need to sleep on a hard floor," said Pippin, groaning as he stood. They gathered up their blankets and excused themselves.

Diamond locked the door behind them and quickly packed her one small bag. Then she went to the larger set of rooms and all of the party had breakfast together. The others reported no intrusions or hints of such at all, and when the hobbits came out into the courtyard their wagons and horses were waiting, readied by the inn's staff. The sky was threatening and low, and a fitful wind out of the west promised that the road would not remain dry for long.

"Would you like to ride in a wagon?" asked Pippin of Diamond. "You needn't get wet if you don't wish to."

She looked doubtfully at the sky. "Perhaps I'll start off with you and Surefoot, and change over if it starts in to pour," she said.

"That'll do," he said, and she knew he was glad to have her there, close against him again.

The road east was empty; the Market still had a week yet to run. It did not start raining immediately, although the skies continued gray and louring. When they stopped to eat a quick midday meal - ponies still in harness, the train of new animals still roped to one another and given feedbags where they stood - black clouds marched toward them from the direction of the Shire, trailing rain like gauzy skirts at their feet. They had hardly been back on the road for an hour when the wind hit, a few hard, chill gusts and then a steady roaring thrust, right into their faces so they felt slower even than they actually moved. The rain came hard on the heels of the wind, fat drops spattering the road and then a deluge, so thick they had to bend their heads to breathe. Their train stopped then, and in a wild confusion of wind and flying water re-checked the baggage; Diamond slid off Surefoot and was helped into the back of a wagon, where she tightened the edges of the wagon cover and then sat dripping behind the driver, Dodds. Gerry sat beside her, and they tried to converse for a little while, but the ceaseless pounding of rain on the canvas above made it impossible; they gave up, smiling and then subsiding into numb silence.

The rain went on. Their progress was steady; although the road quickly turned into a mire, it would have been worse had it not been such a seldom-used way, for the grass in the ruts prevented the mud from trapping their wheels. The rain went on. Through the narrow opening in the canvas, past Dodds's back, Diamond could see little - an occasional glimpse of Merry, all his gelding's high spirits beaten down by the hard, steady downpour; Surefoot, muddy to the withers, Pippin on her back swathed in his cloak, almost invisible in the rain, head bent as the mare doggedly plodded along. The rain went on.

Slowly, slowly the day faded, a shift from one greyness to another and yet another. The wagons stopped and Gerry clambered past her with an apology, leaning out into the rain beside Dodds to talk to the others. He came back a moment later, curls dripping. "We're going to keep going," he said loudly. "They say there's no use trying to camp in this, so we shall just keep on till the Brandywine." He handed her something - a damp, wrapped package. "We'll eat as we go. Here's some bread and cheese and sausage for you, lady." The wain lurched into motion again.

Diamond nodded. She agreed, though no one had asked her. The horses and lads would be tired when they finally reached Brandybuck Hall, and the night waning toward dawn, but trying to eat and sleep out in this weather would be impossible.

She ate her cold dinner and settled back, making herself comfortable on the bundles and packages. Gerry ate, too, and they passed a bottle of water back and forth in silent companionship. The never-ending roar of the wet had long since ceased to have a sound, and she was now deaf; the smell of damp wool and leather and rain-soaked earth came sweeping through on the powerful wind. It was cold, but not as cold for her as for those outside, and she was grateful for her relative state of dryness as she gathered her cloak about her. Diamond lay her head back and stared at the canvas above her head, or to the side, at Dodds' wet back and the curtain of water beyond him, fading into blackness as night fell in earnest.

The rain went on; she dozed.

The wain crunched to a halt. Noise - yells: high fierce hobbit yells and the deeper, threatening shouts of Men; the screaming of horses; and still the relentless pounding of the rain. Diamond sat up, crying out as Gerry leapt over her and out the front of the wagon, stepping on her hand in his haste. Dodds was gone from his seat.

She crept forward and peered out the front of the wagon. All was confusion, but even in the black rain she could see the hobbits beating off attacking men, at least ten of them. The ponies that had been tied to the other wain were gone, and she saw Dodds and Gerry fighting with three Men who were trying to cut loose those harnessed to hers. She caught a glimpse of Pippin, sword flashing, and then ducked down again, her thoughts racing.

_What did Merry say about these benches?_ Diamond thought. She knew she was of no use outside her wagon, and she had no desire to become a hostage, a weapon used against those she loved. She leaned down lower yet, peering at the wood in the darkness. There was a little notch just below the seat; when she hooked one finger into it, the back of the bench swung down. She looked over her shoulder; grabbed the water bottle and the remains of her food, and squeezed into the little space, pulling the varnished wall of her refuge back into place. Just as she did the cart lurched forward and the front end, where she lay, crashed to the ground, jarring her wickedly; the ponies had obviously been cut free.

It was a cramped space: almost long enough that she could lie down flat, but low, and narrow. It felt uncomfortably like a coffin. She lay on her back, as comfortable as she could be at the awkward leaning angle; knees up, her cloak beneath her head. A little air came through the joins along the corners, but she could see nothing. She could only listen in horror to the noise of the battle outside. It was clear that the Shire folk were getting the worst of it, and she wriggled until she could get her hands over her ears, trying to shut out the awful sounds.

After a while - an eternity - it grew quiet. There were only the voices of the Men, and a few muffled cries, fading away; the wagon shook and she knew they were emptying it of goods. Then the fear rose up and choked her. She knew they would find her, and she stuffed a corner of her cloak into her mouth to keep herself quiet. At first she could not hear them for the rattle of her own heart, but then one of them spoke quite close to where she lay, almost beside her head, so it seemed.

"I thought there was a girl with them," said a voice.

"Aye, there was a girl with the little folks back in Bree. No sign of her here."

"Could be she stayed there."

"Could be - found a young halfling to her liking and stayed behind to -" The man went on to say something so offensively profane that Diamond's fear shifted abruptly to anger. She silently spat out the cloth that had been in her teeth and listened - perhaps they would say something useful.

"Well, at any rate, we've enough to do with the one Redrick and Smacker took off," said the first rough voice. "The other six are easier." He snorted with laughter.

Who? Who was the one hobbit who needed two Men to carry him off? _And why only six?_ Diamond thought.

"Wonder why the Boss wants to keep them alive in the first place," said the other.

"One of them's wearing right fancy clothes - reckon maybe we'll ransom them. 'Course there's no need for them to go back in quite the same condition they arrived in." Both fiends laughed.

It must be Meriadoc or Peregrin - _what other would fight so hard, what other wore "right fancy clothes,"_ she thought, fear and grief choking her again.

The voices moved; the wain shuddered and she knew they had jumped down. She almost moved, but then heard them again, on her other side, where the ponies had been before. "What're we supposed to do with these?"

"Leave 'em. One of them's good for naught but firewood, and the other bare as bare bones. No use to us or to the Boss. C'mon, let's go, I'm tired of being out in this nastiness. If the Boss wants it we can allus come back when the rain stops, in the light. This road's as empty as Hardrim's head."

Another laugh, and the voices moved away again. She lay still, waiting and waiting. Waves of anger and fear washed over her so she could hardly think, and the night passed away in a flood of blackness.

Finally the light leaking in at the corners began to change. Only the barest of differences, but to eyes that had been so long starved for seeing, it was like trumpets announcing the dawn. Still she lay motionless. There had been no more voices, no footfalls, no sound but the rain and now even that ceased.

Opening the back of her narrow little hiding place took all her courage. At last her shaking hands managed it, and she lowered the wooden board inch by inch until she could see into the back of the wagon. Full day had come, and she blinked in the comparative brilliance.

Diamond climbed slowly out of her refuge, muscles shaking with cramp and fatigue. Before she turned to look out the front of the wagon, she sat down on the bottom of the cart, invisible to anyone who might be outside, and swallowed her last bite of bread and sip of water. The back of the wain was bare and empty, scavenged clean. Screwing up her courage again, she turned and clambered over the bench and out into the dawn.

The rain had stopped; it was midmorning, she thought, though the sky was a uniform grey. The trees dripped mournfully; the ground all around was battered and torn, the only real sign of battle, other than a few scattered bundles.

A bundle, lying in the mud . . . She stepped down from where she was poised and walked quickly over to look at it, fearing what she would see, but knowing, too, that it had best be seen quickly.

It was Gerry, Gerontius Took, barely twenty-two years of age, eyes closed, face turned to the sky. A careless, gay lad in his tweens and now never to grow older, never to see this day or any other. She stood looking down at him for a long moment, and then knelt gently beside him. She touched his shoulder, and then shook it. It was no good. He was gone beyond any waking she could muster. She sat back on her heels in the mud and looked at his pale young face; not much like to Pippin's except, perhaps, in the long, thin Took nose... She crouched there for a long time, in the unchanging grey light beside him.

Sense came back to her slowly. Six taken, plus Diamond made seven plus Gerry made eight. Gritting her teeth she walked all round the road and even into the woods a little way on either side. She found two dead Men, bodies flung into a shallow ditch beside the way, but no other friend to mourn, and nothing to tell her where the ninth hobbit had got to.

Back on the road she stopped again next to Gerry's body, irresolute, wondering what to do and feeling panic swarm over her again. She clenched her fists. "I won't, I won't," she said aloud. "What shall I do?" The Men would be back for the wagons, perhaps - she must make a decision.

Should she go back to Bree? Back to the Shire? Which was closer? Neither were too far to walk, but alone, with no food, it would be a hard trip, with no guarantee that the ruffians would stay far from the road, which she dared not leave. And all the while her friends, perhaps the one friend dearer to her than any, would be in the hands of those Men - how Diamond wished, helplessly and angrily, for a blade, or a Wizard's staff, or a rhyme that might call help to her.

She thought of all that Pippin had said, all the tales he had told. She thought of Bilbo's tale, and of a certain story retold two nights ago by Nordri and Sudri, involving thirteen imprisoned Dwarves and a certain invisible hobbit.

As she struggled to think of how she could aid her friends, her acute ears caught the sound of someone approaching.

Quick as thought she leapt back into the wagon and slipped into her box. Long before anyone could have seen her she was hidden, lying quiet in the dark. "Waiting again," she thought. She knew that, if it were the ruffians, her decision was made. She only prayed it was the right one.

It was as she had feared: the Men, returning with one horse to pull the wain back to wherever they had their lair. They spoke little, angry grunts to one another; it was not the same two Men she'd heard the night before. The front of the wagon was lifted and she struggled not to make a sound as her body shifted to the new angle. Soon enough she began to move, jolting away off the road - she could tell that, if little else - and she wished mightily for some peephole to inform her of direction. She could hear the Men cursing the pony and each other, and then the stinging sound of a whip as the cart stuck on a branch or stone.

Her temper rose on the animal's behalf, and she seized on her anger and clung to it, knowing it to be the only grace that might see her through.

~*~

The wagon bumped and rattled across rough terrain for a long time. Diamond slept a little, waking abruptly when the ride smoothed. The daylight vanished and from the sounds of the Men's voices she thought they had come into a high hall, or perhaps a cavern. There was a flickering glow, as of firelight. They went on for a moment longer and then stopped; she heard the horse unhitched and she braced herself just in time - once again the front of the wagon was carelessly let fall and it thumped roughly to the ground. She heard the horse led away, a creak and then click - a door closing? - and other horses moving about. She strained but heard only the Men, arguing viciously over something. Finally rustling, a thud and a low groan, and then silence; the flickering light dimmed.

She lay still for a long, long time.

She had to move. A sneeze tickled at her nose and her muscles fairly screamed with misuse. As slowly as she could, she lowered the board once more. A faint glow met her wide-stretched eyes; she could see perfectly. The cloth over the back of the wagon had been loosened and rolled up. Beyond the back of the cart was a space and then a rough rock wall. So. A cavern. She crept out of her hidey hole and sat at the bottom of the wagon for a moment. Taking off her muddy boots and placing them back in the bench, she closed it and crawled across the bottom of the wagon, keeping low. She looked over the back and around. There was no one there - no guard she could see.

Silent as only a frightened hobbit could be - very silent indeed - she slipped over the back of the wagon and down onto the floor. She slid beneath the wain's bulk and eeled her way to where she could see more clearly.

It was a stable, with no-one on guard that she could see. The cavern was long and low, the ceiling just high enough for a man, more than high enough for a halfling. A small pen had been set up against one wall, and in it she recognized the ponies that Merry and Pippin had bought, as well as the four that had pulled the hobbits' wains; she didn't see Surefoot, but Merry's gelding stood placidly enough, switching his tail. A line of rough stalls lined one wall, some of them occupied, more empty. She could see two doors: one wide enough for horses and carts, barricaded but opened easily enough from inside no doubt; the other opening was a gaping black tunnel mouth. No doubt the direction the outlaws had taken, deeper inside their wretched filthy degenerate stolen lair. The only light came from two smoky torches on brackets by the doors.

_What now?_ she thought. She was hungry and thirsty - the bread long since eaten, the water - only a sip - drunk before she fell asleep. Perhaps there was water in the stalls. If not, there would certainly be a trough at the back of the pen. She preferred the stalls, though, as offering a way to duck out of sight should it be needed. She was also, she thought wryly, quite timid about being among so many tall horses and so many sharp hooves.

She crept swiftly across the open floor and slipped into an empty stall. _Blessed be_, she thought, spying a half-full water bucket. She lifted it off its hook and drank thirstily, though noiselessly. That done she sat down in the straw. Her energy suddenly deserted her. What had she done? Brought herself into a trap, she thought hopelessly, freely - well, almost freely - put herself into a position where she could do little good and much harm, both to herself and others. She put her head on her knees and sat silent, a small huddled figure.

The horse in the next stall moved restlessly. "Easy there," she heard someone murmur, and for a bare instant she froze in terror, until her singing heart told her what she'd heard.

Not daring to speak, she crawled through the hay and opened the door of her stall. Glancing nervously toward the black tunnel entrance, she slipped round and entered the next stall, now fearless of its equine tenant.

The horse was not alone. A long form lay to one side, tied like a bundle of sacking and facing the wall. When she closed the stall door with a gentle snick, the bundle moved. "Come back to talk, chaps?" it said.

"Quite cheerful," she murmured, dropping swiftly. "Considering your circumstances." In an instant her belt-knife had sawn through the bonds on his wrists. She pulled his shoulder and rolled Pippin over to face her. His expression was her reward, incredulous and joyful and relieved and terrified all at once. She sat over him, rubbing his chafed wrists in her hands, smiling ridiculously down at him. He had been stripped of all but breeches and tunic, thin garments for the chill cave.

"Diamond!" he cried out, and she put one finger on his lips.

"Softly," she said.

"Diamond of Long Cleeve, what do you here? I can't lift my arms yet, the strength hasn't come back to them - come here, Diamond."

She leaned down and into his weak embrace. "I hid in the wagon seat, just as Merry said, and then when I came out, the Men came back to fetch the wagon; I jumped back in and here I am," she whispered into his ear. She sat back up and impatiently wiped her face. "Let me cut your legs free," she said, and set to work.

"Oh Diamond, and they say I am a fool - why didn't you get clean away? Merry did, and Gerry too. I had hoped..." He struggled to sit up and she moved to help him. They sat for a little while together, not speaking. She wrapped her cloak around them both and held him, willing her warmth to flow into his shivering body, oblivious to the danger of discovery for at least that little moment.

"Pippin," she whispered into his shoulder at last.

"Yes, I know, we have to think of some way free, not just for us, they have the others somewhere else, further in, if once we can get out Merry will find us, he'll come and help -"

She shook her head. "Pippin, it's not that. Well, yes it is that of course. But first I have to tell you..." And she told him that Gerry had not got clean away.

He didn't reply, but tightened his arms around her. "He's my sister's oldest son," he murmured at last. "One of my favorites, you know..." He stopped. "Later. Time for that later." He drew a shuddering breath and sat back, away from her. "Right now we've got to see what we can do about getting the others free. There are only twelve of these Men, I think, there must be a way to overcome them."

"Are you mad?" she said, her voice low and flat.

"Don't doubt yourself, Diamond," he whispered back.

"Doubt myself? _Doubt myself?_ My dear ass," she hissed. "It's not at all that I doubt myself, it is that I am completely useless. I've no experience with this kind of thing -- what lass, what _hobbit_ does? I'm terrified, I'm hungry, I'm exhausted. And now you say that you and I, armed with this knife," she waved it before his nose, "and the little nail trimmer strapped to my ankle, are going to overpower a dozen armed cutthroats."

The horse shied and stamped one foot nervously; she immediately subsided, but glared fiercely at Pippin. He looked right back at her. "Diamond," he said. He paused. "I know. I really do. But if not you and I, then who?" He searched her face. "You must have heard those Men speaking. Merry will be back, and he'll bring better trackers than any the Shire has to offer. But it will take time, and these aren't Men who will let us wait. If once they feel pressured they'll do to the others just as they did to Gerry, and in the meantime who knows what. I don't say we have to fight them all bare-handed," he added. "Nor even with your fingernail trimmer. Secrecy and silence are our best weapons. They don't know you're here. And perhaps we can make them believe that I am not here, as well."

~*~

Leaving Pippin to beat his numb arms and legs upon each other, Diamond slipped all round the edges of the large room, "to see what she could see," as Pippin had whispered. There were no good hiding places, beyond the dark corners or the stalls - one trusting too much to luck, the other a trap. Everything was out in the open. She heard a noise and twisted round, but it was only Pippin, creeping out of his stall and into the next. She returned to him a moment later.

"I didn't care to be next to that creature, no matter how agreeable he seemed, any longer," he whispered, indicating the horse with his eyes.

"I'm sure I agree," she replied. "There's naught to be done here - no place to hide at all, at all, unless you care to try your luck. One of us could go into the bench where I was, in the wagon there, but two could not fit, no matter how tightly pushed - and you might be too tall, any road."

"Well, I have an idea, but it will call for luck."

"How I wish we had your uncle's magic ring," she said, but Pippin shuddered.

"Wish no such thing," he muttered. "There was naught but evil in that ring, though being invisible _would_ be useful about now." He paused. "What have you other than your nail trimmer?"

"I have my clothes and cloak, as you see. My knife of course. In the pocket of my cloak I've tinder and char and flint and steel. In the wagon, beneath the bench, I've an empty food bag and an empty water bottle."

He pondered this for some time. "Can you fetch the bottle? We can fill it here, and it might be useful." She nodded and was gone; there was neither sound nor sign of their captors and she returned swiftly with the little bottle. They filled it from the bucket and he told her his plan. They set it to work immediately - there seemed no profit in waiting.

The outer door was quickly unbarred; the cave opened onto trees, narrow bands of grey-on-black in the night - was it night already? Diamond listened beside the tunnel mouth, pressed in fear against one wall, while Pippin opened each occupied stall and the gate of the pen. He began to lead the horses out, and herd animals that they were, they followed the first with little protest or noise. He led them in a long string to the door and then, turning to nod at Diamond, he poked the lead horse in the hindquarters with her slim little ankle-knife - not hard enough to injure it, but more than enough to offend it, and the creature let out a cry and raced out into the night.

When he'd nodded at her, Diamond had leapt back into the cart and, quick as a rabbit, squeezed into her hiding place. Pippin ran across the floor and slid under the wagon, near the front where it slanted down to meet the floor. Tall though he might be for a hobbit, there was plenty of space for him. He could even see, slightly, through a long narrow gap, like looking under a door.

They hadn't long to wait. Half a dozen men came tumbling out of the tunnel into the stable, shouting and cursing. One took charge, cuffing and snarling at the others. Four went out into the night after the horses; one went back into the tunnel, and the leader stood where he was; Pippin watched his boots as he turned slowly round. He walked quickly over to the stall where Pippin had been tied and threw open the door.

He emerged more slowly, and walked to the outside door. Someone came back out of the tunnel. "The Boss says it'll be your head if the fancy one's gone."

"My head, my arse," the leader said. "Whoever tied him up, that's who will catch it - look at this - he must've been left something sharp enough to slice through these here ropes."

"So he's gone?" said the other.

"Course he is. Must have jumped on the back of the fastest horse and led the way. Damn and blast, there's gonna be hell to pay and no pitch hot when the Boss hears of it."

"I'm off then," said the first voice. "I tied him and I searched him good - got off a nice-sized dagger and a little knife and there war'n't naught else, and I'm not staying here to get whipped by Flint Greyknock." The feet swiftly disappeared out into the night, leaving behind the cursing leader of the small bunch.

Pippin and Diamond lay still as two small stones, locked in silence, inches apart. After a time four men returned, leading two ponies and one horse. The deserter seemed to have spoken in earnest - none of the searchers had seen him pass in the night, and the leader cursed again, and spoke in a chilling voice: "Anyone else thinking of scarpering should remember what the Boss did to Fugol Brun. The same will happen for sure when he catches up to Blaca, and you shouldn't ought to forget it." The ponies were turned into the pen and the outer doors barred again, and the outlaws left. Quiet descended.

"Diamond?" Pippin whispered.

"I'm here, Peregrin," she said.

"Well, now we're down to eleven to overcome," he said.

"Well, that makes all the difference," she said. "Only eleven... now I can relax."

He snaked out from under the wagon and climbed inside it. Diamond opened her bench and they looked at one another in the dim light. "What now?" she said.

"Well," said Pippin. "Somehow we must get further in. I'm glad they think I've gone, but they'll probably believe I'll lead others back here - and I fear what they'll do to our friends before they leave." He pushed his fingers through his hair. "We must get them out sooner than soon."

"There's nothing for it then," she said. "Let's go."

"Diamond, you should get out - try to find your way back to the road and wait there - Merry will be back, I know he will, and you could save him time and hardship were you to guide him here."

For a moment she was tempted - better to risk everything out beneath the sky than here in this sunless tomb - but then she clenched her fists. "You said already he'll have trackers with him," she said, and added in her thoughts _Grant that he did not go the way of Gerry._ Aloud she continued: "I'm not a piece of baggage, and I won't be bundled off to one side. It's true I've no training in fighting, but I'm as nimble as you ever have been, Peregrin Took, and I can move as quietly as any hobbit. I've my wits to keep me as you have yours for yourself."

Pippin saw in her defiantly lifted chin the mulish, foolish, dubiously admirable stubbornness that had taken him further from home than he had ever dreamed or wagered for. He smiled a little at her, and her eyes narrowed, wondering what his expression boded. "Very well, Diamond," was all he said. "We'll do what's needed."

~*~

They went one at a time into the tunnel mouth, not knowing how long it would be. Pippin went first, and Diamond didn't enter until she could barely see him in the gloom ahead. The thought was that if the leader was sighted, the follower might yet be able to dash back out of view.

It was not actually pitch dark in the tunnel; a faint light came from far ahead and from the stables behind. Pippin skulked along one wall, pressed close to it. A little way along he saw a dark opening on the left; no sound, no light issued from it, only a soft, steady breathing of cold, dank air. He slithered past it and went on.

He was no longer shivering, despite the cold; his heart beat high and fast and all his senses were sharpened. The wall of the tunnel was rough and slightly gritty beneath his fingers, and the floor beneath his feet the same: hard-packed dirt and smallish bits of gravel. There was little scent here - a trace of wood smoke, and very, very faint the musty, homey smells of horses and hay. The ceiling was low for Men but commodious for his kind. He was coming closer to the light. The corridor curved to the right and he moved to the other side. The light was growing brighter, and he heard things, as well: the low murmur of conversation, the clink of knife against plate. The smell of burnt food reached his nose and he had to press one finger beneath it to keep himself from sneezing. When the urge had passed he inched further on.

He stopped. One more step and he would be able to see, he thought - and be seen. He turned and put up a hand to halt Diamond; he couldn't see her at all, but turned back to the fore resolutely. He dropped down to his hands and knees and peered around the last bit of curving wall.

It was a kitchen, as he'd expected - a low, mean little room for the most part, except at one end, where the ceiling rose into blackness. A cooking fire crackled against that wall, the smoke vanishing into the darkness - there must be a good draught there, for the flames danced cheerfully. Two men sat hunched over a trestle table, eating burnt sausages. Pippin's mouth watered suddenly - burnt or not, it had been a long time since his last hasty meal, eaten in the pouring rain on Surefoot's back... He swallowed silently and listened as the Men began to speak again.

"So Blaca's gone," said one. He was a thin man, with a thin, dark beard on thin, sunken cheeks. His companion was heavier and hairier, with coarse features and a bristling brown beard. He nodded, not looking up from his plate. "Flint's in a right taking - says he'll have his guts for garters when he catches up to him."

"He won't - catch up, that is," said Brown Hair. "Blaca'd more sense than some, and after letting that pretty-dressed scorpion escape, Flint'd've come as near as dammit to killing him." He wiped his mouth and belched low. "Time is I expect Blaca has the right of it."

"Don't let Flint or Ost hear you talk like that," said Thin Man, but he stared so long and hard at his eating companion that Brown Hair finally looked up and met his gaze. Thin Man nodded, once, and after a long pause, Brown Hair nodded back. They had come to some agreement, Pippin knew - were these two about to turn tail and desert, too? Hope made his pulse pound, but the next words brought him sharply back to reality.

"What about those other prisoners?" said Thin Man.

"Reckon they're worth summat," said Brown Hair speculatively. "No sense in leaving them here for Flint and Ost to get all the advantage of."

"I've spoken with Tunny and Smack already," said Thin Man. "I don't know where Hugh and Iving stand, but probably on the side that looks strongest. We need to do summat to get them over - that leaves Flint with five and us with six, and the better six at that."

"But saddled with those dead weights," and Pippin knew he meant the other hobbits, "we're weakened."

"I'll be damned if I let Flint have 'em," said Thin Man, his voice crackling with malice. "After what he did to Fugol, and then leaving Rees and Gil there in the mud like that - he'll see profit from them over my dead body."

Brown Hair sat back and regarded his companion skeptically. "I'm sure he'd like nothing better," he said. "Listen, Hand, I see your point, but I'll tell you straight I've no interest in revenging myself. I want out of Flint's little band, but not at the cost of my eyes or my life."

Thin Man - Hand - nodded, but Pippin could see rage boiling just below the surface. "I want to move now," he said. "We've little enough time if that one thrice-damned creature gets back to the halflings little country - he'll only bring back halflings, but there will be a lot of them, angry and armed. And they might seek out a Ranger."

"There are few enough of them left," said Brown Hair. "They all went South near on four years ago."

"Not all," corrected Hand. "And they've been returning, wearing new livery and not so solitary anymore."

"Any road, I reckon you're right, we should get out and get out soon. If you have a simple way to get the halflings out with us, whole or in pieces, I'll listen. But mostly I just want out." Brown Hair stood, and Pippin shrank back out of sight, poised and ready to race for the dark opening he'd passed on his way -- at least there he might be passed unseen. But both Men now shoved their chairs in and moved toward the door on the other side of the room, deeper into the hill.

"I hate this blasted hideout anyway," complained Brown Hair. "The only damn place I can find is the stable and this room - I get lost in all the maze further in."

"I'll be glad to be shut of this place and this gang and those halflings," said Hand, and they disappeared through the far door.

Pippin retreated to Diamond. "There's a kitchen there, a sort of anteroom," he whispered in a furious rush. "There were two Men there talking, they plan to run off but they're thinking of taking our friends with them. They've gone past into the main area, I think - they said it's a perfect maze, and I think we should seize our chance now and go through - I think there must be more and better hiding places on the other side of that kitchen." He grasped her hand and they went back. They paused just outside the kitchen and looked at one another. Diamond took a deep breath; they nodded slightly to one another and then fled through the room.

The far door led onto a dark maze, indeed: an immensely high, stony vault and openings left, right, and center. Most were dark, but through some firelight could be seen, and directly ahead, a ragged torch smoked and sputtered. By some luck or grace there was no one in sight, and Pippin and Diamond quickly ducked through the nearest dark archway.

They cautiously edged their way as far as they dared from the light, and then held a hurried conference. "We need to split up," said Diamond.

"No!" said Pippin. "What if we need one another? I don't want one of us to get lost, or captured."

"Don't be ridiculous," she murmured. "For one thing, if someone is going to be captured, better it should be one rather than two. For another, this place is obviously enormous, and it will take us too long to search it together."

"But how are we to find one another again?" asked Pippin. It seemed unanswerable - they'd no way of measuring time passed, and no way of marking routes already explored. Diamond looked away. "Let's try to do as we have done - stay together, but a bit apart," Pippin went on persuasively. "It gives us at least some advantage, and if we separate, we've no assurance we'll ever find one another again in this labyrinth."

"Very well," she said. "What time do you think it is now?"

"It was night when the horses escaped," said Pippin. "But not too late, I don't think - I can't believe it's already been so long since the Road." His voice in the darkness was anxious, and she fumbled for his hand. He returned the pressure gratefully. "We should save the water - we might need it later, or the others may need it worse than we." They heard voices and both froze, silent as tree, root, stone. There was one light voice and at least two others replying, and then they faded away. The hobbits remained still as frightened rabbits for minutes, then slowly relaxed again.

"Perhaps we should wait until later to move - some of the Men might go to sleep," she whispered.

"That's a good idea," he said. "Should we just stay here, do you think?"

"I can't think of anything else to do. But we can't fall asleep," she added.

"No... I think if I fell asleep now I'd wake up in a week," he said, rubbing his hands over his face. They moved closer together; she gave him her cloak and he wrapped them both in it. "I wonder what they did with my Lothlórien cloak," he said. "And my clothes - I'd like to get those back, if I could."

"How embarrassing it would be to ask the King for a new set of livery," she murmured, and they both began giggling silently. Every time she was almost able to stop, she felt him shaking with renewed laughter, and she would begin again. At last they both subsided, and she pushed herself back, further into his arms. Neither spoke for a long while. Diamond's stomach gnawed itself with hunger, and she knew Pippin must be in a worse state. "We should have nicked some food when we dashed through that kitchen," she said.

"Don't talk about food," he replied. There was a pause. "If we had they might have noticed something missing, any road. At least this way they've no idea we're here."

"Yes, that's true, I suppose."

Minutes passed, hours - it was hard to tell in the endless underground night. Pippin had drunk some water from the bucket in the stall earlier, once Diamond had cut him loose, so that need at least was not so urgent; but he ached with hunger. He was cold, too - Diamond's cloak was much too short to cover him, and he was more warmed by her small, solid presence than by the fabric. He drifted as they sat on the hard, gritty floor: He thought of Merry, and hoped in some small, secret place that he would come charging in with Rangers and torches and swords so that he and Diamond would be spared. He thought about Gerry, but turned his mind away from it soon, as being too painful. He dwelt briefly on the fighting back at the road - he thought perhaps he'd slain one of the Men, but the encounter had been quick, confused, and muddled as battles so often were; he was not certain. In any case two were dead, and he was glad - it meant two less to evade.

As he thought of the skirmish he began to doze. Deep Men's voices mingled with his dream, and he was being shaken - he woke suddenly and found Diamond's hand over his mouth, stifling his gasp. Her mouth was against his ear. "They're coming," she hissed, and the hobbits scrambled to their feet. Pippin grabbed her hand and they retreated - they could see torchlight getting brighter (though still feeble). The Men had stopped talking. Pippin trusted that the floor would not disappear from beneath his feet and they fled away. After what seemed an eternity he felt a meager opening under his groping fingers, and he scraped sideways into it, pulling Diamond in after him.

It was narrow and not very deep, but off the main corridor at least. Pippin edged back as far as he possibly could, and felt Diamond pressed back against him. It was perhaps a man's arm length from the tip of her nose to where the Men were fast approaching. She wriggled to get at her cloak, then lifted it before them both; its gray color might disguise them if the Men happened to look their way.

They needn't have worried; the light grew brighter, and they heard footsteps, and a clanking - the Men must be carrying something or things, Pippin thought. There was an instant's blaze as the torch went past - easily visible through the cloak, to their sensitive eyes - and then the footsteps and light faded. They didn't move, scarcely even breathed, and a few moments later the footsteps, no longer clanking, came by again.

"That's the last of that," said one voice. "Now p'raps the Boss will let us get some blessed sleep."

"It's past time," said another voice. "He drives us too hard and leaves us too little ale."

"You shut your mouths," said one more. "The only reason it took so long is because you lot are nothing but lazy sods - you left them knives sitting in a pile all day and half the night. It's a good thing that little escapee didn't come in instead of going out - he'd have had a right good time with that loot."

The other Men replied with grunts and the footsteps faded, along with the light. After a short lifetime, Diamond lifted the cloak from them. Pippin leant down to whisper in her ear. "I will wager you any amount you care to name that we have been sitting in the hall to the armory."

"I'll not touch that wager," she said.

"Let's go."

They emerged back into the main avenue and felt their way once again, going away from the Men and into pitch darkness. Soon enough Pippin's searching hands encountered a wooden door. It was barred and secured with a stout lock. "May I have your little nail clipper?" asked Pippin. He was no hand at picking locks, but he'd managed it once or twice with simple machines, and he knew he must at least try. Diamond handed him the narrow knife and he set to work. It was fussy, delicate work, made easier by the blackness - Pippin could use his senses of touch and hearing more certainly than if he'd been able to see plainly. The lock, for all its weight and heft, was not complicated, and after a minimum of fumbling and cursing he heard it click and eased it open. He and Diamond slid inside and closed the door behind them.

"Can you strike a light without seeing?" he asked.

In answer she sat on the floor and dug out her fire-starting tools. Wincing at the sound, she tore a strip from the lining of her cloak and held it ready; within a few minutes she had managed a weak spark in her tinder and she nursed a bare crackle onto the cloth. The tiny flame was brilliant in the lightless cave. Pippin seized an unlit torch from a bracket on the wall; Diamond tucked the smoldering cloth deep into its dry sticks and soon they had more than enough light to see by.

The armory was a small rough room, hewn out of the rock by main force, if the marks on the walls were any guide. Stiff leather breast- and backplates were stacked to the left of the door; rude helms of the same material lay tumbled beside them. There were only a few swords there, ugly, blunt-bladed things that reminded Pippin unpleasantly of orc weapons. There were no knives. To the right of the door was a messy pile - the hobbits' arms and sacks of loot from the wagons. Pippin fell onto these and began digging mutely through them. He found his own things near the bottom, wrapped in his silken cloak. He held it up, saddened to see the beautiful thing, a product of Galadriel's fair hands, here in this dank place. The thought of her was somehow strengthening, however; he pulled on his armor and livery hastily, damp and cold though it still was. Over all he wrapped the cloak, and felt it warming him. He dug further and found his sword, but no scabbard. He slid it naked into his belt and turned to Diamond. "You should arm yourself," he said. She had been watching him dress - he looked tall and fierce to her now, the Captain of the Guard completely in his sable surcoat, the snowy Tree glistening in the trembling torchlight.

She nodded without speaking, passing the light to him to put on a small cap of rings, tucking her hair into her collar; the smallest of the mail shirts was still too large for her, so she went without, shaking her head when Pippin tried to insist. She put a sling into a pocket of her cloak, and filled another pocket with stones - like most hobbits her aim with a flung stone was true; beyond that she would not go. "My hope lies in being silent and quick," she said. "I do not wish to be hindered by mail that is too large or bulky for me."

He nodded at last. "Shall we? I don't wish to be trapped here, and perhaps we should be moving about."

She nodded. "I'm ready. As ready as I can be," she amended.

Pippin felt something in the pocket of his livery, a hard little lump. "Wait!" he said. He pulled it out, a small sleek bag tied at the top. "They overlooked this, I am sure," he said, untying the ribbon. He drew something out -- a tangled knot that untangled as he lifted it, silver threads dripping from his hands. He drew her near and placed it around her neck. "Tuck it in close, so it doesn't swing," he said, turning her round to fasten the necklace; before he did she looked down at it, touching the blue morning glories and silver leaves with wondering fingers.

"What is it?" she said.

"Dwarven work," he replied from behind her, busy with the clasp. "Something beautiful for you to wear."

She turned and embraced him, laying her head on his chest for a moment. "Thank you, Pippin."

"Wear it with care," he said, leaning down to rest his nose and cheek against the cold metal of her cap. "Don't let those Men find it."

"I won't," she vowed. "Come, let's go find our friends."

~*~

All was still outside the armory. The corridors were black, and they groped their way back to the main hall, pausing just outside the light to listen. No sound came to them beyond the quiet crackle of the sconces. They nodded to one another again and Pippin went on ahead.

Their luck held and they saw no Men. They skirted the well-lit areas where they could, circling around them in dark caverns and narrow ways only a hobbit could fit through, keeping the light always in sight. The Men used only a small part of this winding complexity of stone, and there were many empty rooms and avenues. Twice they heard voices, and once snores; a cautious exploration by Diamond revealed a low room with cots in it. She counted quickly and went back to Pippin.

"There are six of them sleeping there," she breathed.

"That leaves five to worry about," he said.

"I don't think the leader or that deputy you spoke of would sleep with the others," she said. "They would have their own rooms."

"Even if we assume they are asleep, which we should not, that leaves three."

"There's probably a guard on our friends."

"We must find them... and I want to know if the two I heard plotting earlier are there with the sleepers." Before she could say anything Pippin had slipped away; she waited with her heart in her throat until he came back. "One is there, the brown-haired man. The other one, the one who wanted to start things in train, is not there."

"Let's move on," suggested Diamond, and they did, continuing their sneaking progress.

They found a locked door, behind which thunderous snores could be heard; "That leaves four," said Pippin. They found another kitchen and, heedless of the consequences, stole bread and wine, wolfing them down in a dark little space far from the light; "Now we can go on for a bit longer," said Pippin.

They found their feet moving slowly, slowly... Although the Men's section of the cave was not large, they went so slowly, and had to find their way through such a bewilderment of openings, paths, avenues, and caverns, that it was taking them far too long, Pippin and Diamond both thought anxiously. Neither shared the thought.

They found another locked door, this one barred from the outside and a guard sleeping before it, propped in a wooden chair, sword across his lap. The two hobbits withdrew. "That's it," said Diamond. "What shall we do?" They both knew with certainty that their captured folk must be behind the door.

Pippin crouched there beside her, thinking as hard as ever he could make his weary mind do. "I don't know," he said, scrubbing his face with his hands again. "I don't think I can bring myself to, to, to kill him. I could in a fight, but to sneak up and cut his throat - I've no stomach for it, and what's more, no practice at it. I'd likely botch it." He felt hopeless suddenly - now he'd got here and found what he looked for, he couldn't think how to go any further.

"Perhaps we could lure him away? Create a diversion?" Diamond took his hand and rubbed it encouragingly.

"But what diversion could we create that would not bring others running?" said Pippin.

"I don't know. Could we just... knock him on the head, hard enough not to kill him but enough that he would not stir?"

They sat whispering for a few moments longer, but could think of nothing better to try. Diamond silently, thread by thread, tore several strips from her cloak - it was beginning to be quite ragged - and then they slunk back to where they could see the sleeping guard. Pippin took out his sword and turned it, then stepped into the corridor, heart beating fast and hard. The Man never stirred, and Pippin walked silently behind him. He raised the pommel of the sword and brought it down as hard as he could on the Man's temple.

It worked like a charm - the Man slid off his chair, dropping the sword with a clatter. Pippin dashed back into the darkness and he and Diamond waited to see if anyone would come at the noise.

No one did.

The two frightened adventurers came back out and bound the man solidly - strips of Diamond's strong cloth about his hands and elbows, behind his back; her belt round his knees; more cloth at his ankles, and then a wad of cloth stuffed into his mouth and bound there. Panting, they managed between them to carry his limp body far down a dark path, where they dumped it unceremoniously. Pippin checked to see that he was breathing - he was - and then dug through his pockets, wrinkling his nose at the Man's unwashed fug, until he came across a key.

Back to the door, and now they worked hastily. Pippin thought to pick up the Man's sword, and Diamond grabbed the torch that hung on the wall. She opened the door and she and Pippin slid inside.

Greetings, confusion, questions - above all, _noise_, and Diamond quelled them fiercely: "Hush your mouths, you halfwits, we've no time! ...How many are there?" this to Pippin. She stood by the door, peering through a narrow crack into the hall and looking quite dangerous, the torch flaming in one hand and her knife in the other, held ready.

Pippin began cutting them free. "All five are here," he replied. "Toss me your knife." She did, and he handed it to Bill Bracegirdle, who helped set the others free. In no time at all, six hobbits stood in a huddle, listening to Pippin, who whispered urgently while Diamond stood guard, watching for the Men. "Let's go," he finally said, and they all nodded, more alert than most of them had ever been, perhaps.

Diamond held the door and they filed out. She locked the door on the empty room - perhaps it would confuse the issue - and pocketed the key. Pippin led them to the nearest unlit passage and down it, and they began circling back the way they'd come, feeling their way cautiously through the dark branches of the caves.

Milo Hardbottle took rearguard, and Diamond worked her way to Pippin's side. "Where are we going?" she whispered.

"Out is my goal, mostly," he replied. "If there's a chance to stop at the weapons room and get our swords and bows on the way, that would be good." Their feet never stopped; nor did their hands, grimy from tracing along the dirty walls.

They were, perhaps, halfway back to the entry tunnel from the stables when the noise began. Shouts and curses, at first, and the hobbits all froze where they were for a moment. Then, "Toward the doors, at least," commanded Pippin sharply, and they all went forward at a jog, less careful of noise, keeping the firelight steadily on their left and as distant as they could safely manage. Just as they came to the side tunnel that led to the armory the yells came plunging toward them, joined now by the crash and clang of sword on sword. Pippin thrust everyone back, deeper into the unused portion of the cave and away from the armory. Flame trembled on the wall and a group of shouting Men ran past, visible only as shadows. The hobbits shrank from the light, listening as the door of the armory crashed open - "It wasn't even locked!" cried one astute Man, the shout lost amid other yells - and then the Men, presumably armed now, charged back toward the joining of the ways.

"Right," said Pippin, drawing a deep breath. "Milo, Andy, Bill, you come with me. Diamond, Dodds, Callum, stay here. We'll be back with weapons or not at all." He handed Diamond her knife and she looked down to slide it back into its sheath, unwilling to watch as the three Guards trotted away. They were gone only moments, it seemed, then Pippin was back, handing each hobbit (but for Diamond) a sword; the Guards carried quivers and bows as well, and every hobbit had his cloak.

"Now listen," said Pippin. "There'll be more Men coming for weapons - I think the six who wanted to desert have done so, yes?" He looked at Diamond and she nodded. "That's who I think got swords just now - the others, the ones who are still with their chief, will be coming soon, and we must get out of here, where we are, now. Once we leave this spot there is only one way out that we know of, so if it comes to fighting, we fight. There's no place to hide until we get outside. If you do make it outside, head west for the Shire. Stay near the road, and keep a sharp eye out for Merry - he should be well on his way back by now." They all nodded at him in their turn. "Diamond, stay close to me," he said, and she assented without speaking, gripping her knife. Pippin drew his sword from his belt again and led them out into the armory tunnel, turning left toward the main kitchen.

The hobbits loped down the hallway. They could hear little ahead. Pippin came out into the first vaulting cave and suddenly from behind there was an outcry.

"The little ones are running!" someone shouted, and without looking back Pippin slammed open the door to the kitchen and flew through it, Diamond hard on his heels and the others in a tight clump behind her. Down the long black tunnel, pursued into the stable, where they surprised four Men hurriedly saddling horses - Pippin recognized one of them as Hand - the fighting began.

Peregrin felt an arrow whip past his head and knew that one hobbit, at least, was keeping his head. Then everything dissolved into the chaos that Pippin associated with battles in general - shouting, screaming, the clash of sword on sword and the whiz of rocks going by his ear - Diamond busy with her sling - he felt someone try to lift him bodily and whirled round to hack at the enormous arms trying to drag him away - saw Dodds racing toward the big stable doors, struggling to open them - the whole knot of fighting was moving slowly toward the doors and Milo ran to help Dodds - Pippin was face-to-face with a Man - ducking beneath the long reach to stab upward, feeling a scrape along his right arm and spinning out from under his falling assailant - the doors were open and the gray light of dawn flooded the room - more Men outside, bursting in on the fighting: Men dressed in grey and among them hobbits, armed and shouting in their high clear voices - it was Merry, Merry come with Rangers at last, Merry to the rescue.


	9. Not Just Any Fool

The cleanup took little time. The Rangers - six of them, more than a match for the bandits, who suddenly looked pitifully scruffy and underskilled - did most of the work, while Merry led the hobbits outside, into the rising day, chill but cloudless. Diamond sat down beside Peregrin in a clearing and bound up his arm - he'd been scored deep, although he remembered the wound only as a passing scratch. Merry stood beside them both. He'd tried to help Diamond but she slapped his hands away, wrapping Pippin's forearm as neatly as a healer, tears running unheeded down her face. Pippin listened to Merry's quick voice, telling them what had happened.

"We were outnumbered, but not doing badly - you killed one Man, Pip, neat as could be - when they managed to cut free the ponies. My thrice-damned gelding threw me and I was running around doing my best when I was knocked cold - bashed right here -" he leant down to show Pippin the mark, a black bruise from his cheekbone to his ear, "and I guess I fell into the bushes by the road. In any case I woke up and everyone was gone, everything except the carts, and so I got up and started running toward the Shire as fast as I could. Things went just wretchedly from there - the rain, the mud, my head, and it took me quite a while to get very far at all. I thought about using this -" he touched the Horn of Rohan that hung at his waist - "but I was afraid it would just bring those brigands down on me, instead of bringing help." He sat down abruptly beside his cousin. "I don't think I _was_ thinking, to tell the honest truth," he said. "I was cold and scared and, and, and, stupid."

"Yes, stupid," said Diamond unexpectedly. She tucked in the ends of Pippin's bandage and wiped her nose on her sleeve, an endearingly childlike motion. She looked up, and both Merry and Pippin were staring at her. "Stupid with a blow to the head, idiot," she said gently, and reached out to pat Merry's arm.

Pippin lifted his arm and flexed it. "Thank you, Diamond," he said courteously. He yawned enormously.

"You didn't happen to bring any food, did you, Captain?" called Callum Bracegirdle to Merry. The hobbits all stopped talking as the Rangers led the remainder of the bandits out of the cave mouth. There were only six of them now, and the Rangers marched the captives, bound at the hands, one to the next, past the silently watching hobbits toward the Road. One Ranger stopped by Merry, who jumped to his feet.

"My Lord Heredain," said the hobbit, bowing low.

"Lord Meriadoc," said the Ranger, bowing his dark head in turn. His eyes were keen and grey in a rugged face, and Pippin thought at once that here was one as like to Strider as a brother. Pippin rose and Diamond as well, and they bowed to this Captain of the Rangers. "The captives will be kept by us to await the King's justice," he said. He looked at Pippin and saw the White Tree beneath the battle's dirt and gore. He lowered his head again: "Lord Peregrin."

"Will you let them live?" broke in Diamond, heedless of his rank, anger in her voice.

He looked at her for a long moment, and she flushed, but did not flinch from his gaze; he nodded at last. "They will live to hang, when the judge passes sentence."

"My lord," she replied, and curtseyed.

"Need you more help?" the Ranger said, turning again to Pippin and Merry.

"No," said Merry, "we have carts as you know, and ponies enough for all." He looked up into the lean face. "We thank you for your help," he said. "If there is any repayment possible..." Merry lifted one hand in question.

"Repayment? No," said Heredain. "I am in your debt, for we did not know of these blackguards, and should have; we were not as alert as we should have been."

"My lord," said Pippin, and the Ranger regarded him. "The caves the outlaws used - they would be a good station for your Men, perhaps. Then we might both feel ourselves satisfied - we, that you had been given a good place, to use well; you, that this section of the road might be better guarded."

"Well spoken, young periannath," said the Ranger. "I think your idea meritous. Thank you."

"Thank you for your help," said Diamond, and she held out her hand.

Heredain took it and suddenly smiled down on her; his smile was surprisingly sweet, for so stern a Man. "We came in good time, my lady," he said. "But I think you were doing well even without us. You are valiant," and he bent and kissed the back of her hand. He released it and went away after his men, turning once at the wood's edge to lift a hand in farewell.

All the hobbits replied in kind, and then returned to the real world, the world of meeting with friends and tending wounds and wondering about food. Diamond dropped her hand after a long moment and closed her mouth with a snap.

Pippin began laughing. "I knew it could be done," he said.

"What is that, Peregrin Took?" she asked.

"I knew you could be made speechless."

"I hope you knew as well that it wouldn't be _you_ who effected such a state," she replied tartly. "I believe Callum asked you about food?" she said in a completely different tone to Merry.

"We do have food in plenty, back at the road with a small group left to guard it," he said, stifling his grin. He turned to the others. "Come on, lads, let's get these layabouts to the wagons and home," he called. There were protests and laughter, and the weary hobbits, some of them supported by friends, made their limping way through the wood toward the Road.

"Merry," said Pippin, walking with one arm over Diamond's shoulder, "how did you and the Dunedain come to be outside at just that moment?"

"Why, we were waiting for dawn to go in," said Merry. "I had finally got to the Shire and managed to get in touch with Heredain yesterday afternoon. He brought five more Rangers, and I rounded up a few of the quicker members of the Guard, and we were back at the site of the battle by late evening. We found the carts gone and - oh I am so sorry - your nephew Gerry." Merry swallowed and his nose reddened; with an effort he did not cry. Pippin nodded, still unable to face the harsh fact, and after a brief silence Merry went on. "The Rangers tracked the wagons to the cave easily, and we lay in the woods waiting for light. We heard shouts and then suddenly the doors burst open and there you all were, fighting like lions and lionesses," he half-smiled at Diamond, "and the rest you know."

"I do," said Pippin. They walked on; through the trees he could see the wagons, and other hobbits jumping to their feet - all lads he knew from the Guard of course, and he smiled at them as they came rushing up, babbling questions. Exhaustion swamped him as they walked out of the trees, and it was all he could do to stay on his feet. He could feel Diamond sway beside him as they halted beside the wains; there were four wagons, and what seemed to be dozens of ponies.

Merry hurried away to take care of business; Pippin sat down abruptly on the damp grassy verge and laid his head back against the broad, smooth trunk of a beech. Diamond dropped to the ground and leaned over him, but he waved her concern away and smiled, turning his head to look at her. "Just tired," he said. "I slept a little, but not enough, and not enough food... I'm just worn out." Beneath his easy words and his great relief at being alive waited a gulf of grief about his nephew, but he managed - just - to stay above it for the moment.

She removed her mail cap and pulled her hair from her collar, fluffing it into its usual dark riot of curls. The silver necklace came out with it, and she touched it briefly and let it fall against her neck. Then she rested against the tree beside him. "Me, too." They sat in companionable silence, listening to Merry - he sent one group to the caves to fetch the hobbits' stolen goods, and set another small party to cooking food in plenty over a quickly lit fire. Milo, Andy, Dodds, Callum, and Bill sat by the fire, telling their tale to a rapt audience; by unspoken consent Diamond and Pippin were left alone, a little way apart.

Pippin felt himself sliding into sleep, an irresistible tide rising. He shifted and sighed, wishing he could lie down. Diamond read his thought and drew his head down into her lap. He looked up at her face and smiled. "What will everyone think?" he said.

"That you and I are the best and closest of friends," she said. "Hush." She ran her fingers through his hair again and again, and he closed his eyes and drifted away.

When he woke Diamond was asleep, her head fallen to one side, hands quiescent on his head. He blinked up at her for a moment, then shifted his gaze to Merry, who stood looking down at them. The sun was high in the sky; Merry squatted beside him, holding two plates of food. "We're almost ready to go," he said very low. "I thought you might like to eat, then we can get you into the wagons and head home."

Pippin nodded. As he sat up, Diamond woke. She yawned and looked from him to Merry, and then to the plates in Merry's hand. "Well met, Master Meriadoc," she said, smiling gratefully as he handed her the food.

She and Pippin set to with a will, and Merry sat and watched them, talking again: "Everyone is fine - Bill and Dodds both have minor cuts, and Andy got a shrewd knock on the head, but he's like all the Cobbs, his head is hard as adamant. Milo and Callum came through without a scratch, like you did, my lady." She shook her head indignantly, her mouth full of food. "Yes, yes, I know, _Diamond_. Don't talk, eat," he instructed. "Hobb, Hamson, Ponto, and Bingo put all our stolen goods into one wagon and brought it back; we've left the other behind. We can get it later or leave it for Captain Heredain - certainly the Rangers earned something for their help, more than just the trouble of setting up another watch station. Six of the new animals have been recovered, and my gelding wandered up as Hobb and the others were coming back. There's been no sign of Surefoot, I'm afraid." He studied the ground for a moment. "We've put Gerry into one of the wagons, to take home... to Pearl."

Pippin stopped chewing for moment, then swallowed his bite and put down his plate, no longer hungry at the thought of telling his oldest sister what had happened to her son. Diamond watched him, then picked the plate up and handed it back to him. "Being hungry won't make you stronger to face it," she said quietly. Pippin looked at her, and at the plate, and then took it from her and began eating again; he knew he was only delaying the inevitable. Merry watched all this and nodded approval.

Pippin and Diamond finished their food and went where Merry directed them: a large wagon, bigger than the ones they had taken to Bree. They sat on a hard bench behind the driver. In the bed of the wain, behind them, lay Gerontius Took's carefully wrapped body, along with other goods and baggage. Pippin carefully looked elsewhere until he could almost forget it was there; he and Diamond spoke with the driver for a while, then subsided into sleepy silence. Merry ranged before, behind, and beside the train of wagons and ponies, speaking with a Guard here and another there; the sun had dipped behind the hills of the Shire (and out of their faces at last) when they came in sight of the Brandywine and turned south toward Brandybuck Hall.

"You'll have warm beds soon," said Merry, riding up beside them.

"Not before I've had a warm bath," said Diamond fervently. Soon the windows of the Hall twinkled to their left, and Merry led them straight to the stableyard where they'd begun - was it only a week ago? Diamond and Pippin climbed stiffly from the hard wooden seat; he turned to look uncertainly at the cargo, but Merry pulled him away. "Everything will be taken care of for the night," he said. The Guards waved and went on their way, to hot meals and baths waiting at the local Guardhouse; Merry, Pippin, Diamond, Milo, Andy, Callum, Bill, and Dodds ate with the Brandybucks, who tactfully (or out of disinterest, it was sometimes hard to know which, thought Pippin) did not ask them about their adventures. The travellers did not talk much; they were exhausted, ready to drop. Diamond had her hot bath, nearly falling asleep in it, and stumbled to her little room (led by one of Merry's aunts), where she tumbled head-first into deep, dreamless, blissful sleep.

Merry and Pippin were equally worn - Merry, though he had at least eaten, had run himself ragged trying to bring help back for his friends. They hardly spoke once dinner was over - "Good night," said Merry, and Pippin mumbled back, and they fell asleep in the quiet dark.

No-one came to wake any of the travellers, and they slept out their weariness, waking late in the morning. When Pippin sat up the first thing he thought of was the news that must be borne to Great Smials that day, and he groaned aloud.

"I'll go with you," said Merry from the other bed, understanding the sound even as it woke him.

"No, this is my job, my family," said Pippin, but he didn't mean it, and Merry knew it. They dressed quickly - Pippin borrowing some of Merry's clothes, as being the only ones which had any hope of fitting his long frame - and came out into the main hall.

"We'll have to leave quickly," said Merry in an undertone. "It's a long ride, and the morning is half gone already."

"We can get fresh horses at Frogmorton," said Pippin, "and eat on the road."

Diamond was sitting alone in the dining hall, dressed and looking alert, though somewhat pale. "Good morning, my lads," she said. They greeted her and sat beside her with their bowls of porridge. Sunlight streamed in the windows, and the three hobbits sat in a pool of it, warmed through.

"I have to go on ahead, Diamond," said Pippin, eating hurriedly. "I need to get to Tuckborough before Gerry's... before the news gets there." She nodded, and looked at Merry.

"I'm riding with him," he said. "We're off in half an hour. My family will take care of you as long as you care to stay; they'll help you get home as well. I don't know how long I'll stay at Great Smials."

"I do not know either," said Pippin, looking down. "As long as I need to; I shall send word to you."

"Send to the farm when you can," she said, and Pippin nodded.

He pushed his plate away and stood. "I'll see to the horses," he said, still not looking at either of them, and strode away.

"He blames himself, now it's really come to him," said Diamond matter-of-factly. Merry nodded, still eating, watching her. She met his eyes. "Talk to him, will you?" she asked.

He swallowed, and nodded again. "I will. It will pass off him; he's not just any fool, no matter what has been said." A quick glimmer of a smile, and Merry stood up, too. He paused and gave his hand to her. She took it, meeting his eye with an unspoken query. "You are a good medicine for him, Diamond," said Merry. "Don't stay away too long, nor too far. He shall need you."

She looked away, blushing in confusion, then stood as he walked away. "Fare well," she called across the empty tables. "Ride safely." He looked back and waved, and she sat back down, alone in the wide, wood-paneled hall, thinking what to do.

~*~

Pippin and Merry rode hard and fast. There was little time for conversation; the miles rolled away beneath their ponies' pounding hooves. They reached Frogmorton in time to snatch a quick bite to eat and change mounts, then set off again, the sun gradually lowering until it was full in their faces when they trotted into Tuckborough: dusty, tired, hungry. They trotted through the village and on to Great Smials, dismounting with groans of relief. Fosco took the reins from them and Pippin gestured thanks as he and Merry started toward the main hall. Pippin's steps slowed and Merry patted his shoulder.

"What shall I say?" he asked Merry.

"Just tell her, first off," said Meriadoc. "And Pip, don't blame yourself - this did not happen by your doing or your consent or through any failure of yours."

Pippin shook his head and trudged on.

Telling his sister Pearl and her husband Tolworth was just as unpleasant as he'd feared it would be. It was made worse, in a way, by the fact that they, too, seemed to feel it was not Pippin's fault - they did not censure him at all for their son's death or for the fact that Pippin had not saved Gerry. Pearl and Tolly wept, clinging together, and Peregrin knew that, had he broken down, they would have held him, too. His eyes ached with dryness, though, and he simply sat by them with Merry. When their first mourning was through, Merry began to tell stories about Gerry - funny stories, mostly, and Pearl and Tolly joined in, smiling through their tears. Pippin could not - he stayed, lumpishly mute, trapped.

After a time Paladin came in, and Pearl wept anew as Tolly told him the fate of his grandson. The Thain said little, but beckoned to Pippin, who followed him out of the room and through a familiar maze to the Thain's den, where they sat across from one another, Pippin on the low leather seat again, his father behind the massive desk. Paladin wheezed like an old dog as he settled his bulk.

"So poor young Gerry is gone," said the old man, and he wiped his eyes. "I'm saddened to hear it; he was a good lad, if wild. Reminded me somewhat of another wild lad I knew." Pippin could not smile in return; he felt turned to stone, or at least wood, and wished only to be left alone to stare at the wall and not think. Paladin looked shrewdly at him and silence fell between them. At last the elder Took sighed, and spoke again. "Peregrin, my son, what happened was bad luck, plain and simple," he said. "It is just now sinking into your head that Gerry is gone, and you must let it sink in - let yourself grieve for him. You and he were family, and you knew him from his birth. You wish you could have saved him -" Pippin looked quickly out the window - "but you couldn't." The Thain sighed again. "Well, time's what you need, once again. It heals all wounds, they do say." He watched his son for a moment longer; Pippin never met his eye. "You may go." The younger hobbit stood. "But not home, not today," added Paladin. "As your father I tell you, stay here for at least a few days, and rest where we can take care of you before you go back to the East Farthing." Pippin nodded and left the room.

It was night, and far past suppertime, but for all that he was not hungry. He went to his old room and sat on the bed in the dark, waiting. For what, he knew not; something to waken the wooden thing he was become, perhaps.

Merry carried a candle into the room, and Pippin stirred a little. "What ho," said Merry, lighting the lamp. He sat down beside his cousin.

"Merry," said Pippin, passing his hand over his face. "How is Pearl? Tolly?"

"They will be all right," said Merry. "Everyone knows now, of course, and they have plenty of people to help them through. What about you? Your father is worried about you." Pippin glanced at him. "Oh, he did not say anything, but he looked for you at supper, and told me - didn't ask, mind you, told me - that I would be staying for a few days." Merry smiled, and saw an answering smile almost dawn; it faded, however. "Are you hungry?"

"No," said Pippin. "Well, maybe. I don't know. I feel sort of stuck, like I'm waiting for something. Maybe when they bury him..." He put his face into his hands and Merry rested one hand on his shoulder. No tears came, though, and Pippin raised dry eyes after a moment. "How will he... how will Gerry... get here?"

"I'm to send a Messenger in the morning; one of my cousins will drive his... his body home," said Merry. Pippin's quiet threatened to swallow them both and he roused himself with an effort. "Come and eat something - you've shown me all the sneaky ways into the pantries. No one would grudge you food, and your stomach must be clemmed to your backbone by now." He led Pippin out, unresisting. A little food and a hot bath - not enjoyed at all, which worried Merry as much as the lack of appetite - and they both went to bed, Pippin surrendering gratefully to the oblivion of sleep. Merry lay awake longer, listening to Pippin's breathing and thinking of many things.

~*~

The next morning the cousins rose and dressed - Merry borrowing Pippin's clothes this time - and they went to breakfast together. Pippin made a show of being composed; Merry could see dark circles beneath his eyes, despite the long sleep. Glancing round, Merry thought wryly that neither the Thain nor Pippin's mother Eglantine were fooled at all. For all of that they played along, making no comment. Pearl and Tolly were not at the table. After breakfast Merry went outside to speak to one of the Took cousins - there were dozens, of course - and sent him on his way to the Messenger post, with a written note to Scattergold Brandybuck.

The day passed slowly. Pippin could talk and even briefly smile, but he didn't laugh, and he didn't weep. Merry watched him anxiously, and wished Diamond were there.

Right before tea time his wish was granted. A two-pony wagon came rolling up the drive, escorted by four riders. Diamond sat on the front bench of the wain, beside Bill Bracegirdle. Merry and Pippin went outside, along with half the Took family, to see who it was. Merry could see Callum peering between Diamond and Bill; Milo Hardbottle, Andy Cobb, and Dodds Brandybuck were three of the riders. Samwise Gamgee was the fourth, and Pippin saw with surprise that overcame his lethargy for a moment that Sam rode Surefoot. Pearl and Tolly came out, and Pearl ran forward, pushing past Merry.

Bill halted the ponies and Diamond climbed down off the wagon. Ignoring Pippin and Merry, she walked to Pearl and took her hands. "Mistress Took," she said. "I've brought your son home." Pearl leaned forward and kissed Diamond on the cheek; their tears mingled and then the two women stood with their arms around each other and watched as the others gently unloaded Gerontius Took's linen-wrapped body. Tolly came up beside them; Diamond took Pearl's hand, squeezed it, and placed it in Tolly's. She stepped back and stood beside Pippin, still watching the couple.

He stared at her for a long moment. "When did you, I mean, how did you..." He stopped. "What happened?"

She looked at him. "Have you a handkerchief?" He offered it mutely. "Thank you." She wiped her face and sniffed mightily in a most unladylike manner, then tucked the handkerchief away in a pocket. "I would like to take a walk," she said. She offered him her arm, and he looked at it, then at her face. "Walk with me." Her expression was impassive, calm despite her red nose and eyes. Pippin glanced back and saw Merry huddled with Sam; they glanced at him and Sam waved a hand, as if to say, _Go_.

They walked north, past the bulk of the Smials and up a grassy track into a grove of trees. It was another sunny day, unseasonably warm, and the shade of the hardwood stand was welcome. "Pippin," she said thoughtfully, as though tasting the name. "Peregrin Took."

"Yes?" he said, more because he felt he should than because he felt she was actually addressing him.

"To answer your question... I needed something useful to do," she said. "So I cornered Merry's mother - a most impressive lady, by the way, your aunt - and she helped me organize things. We set off around four o'clock yesterday with the wagons. And with Surefoot," she added. "A Ranger rode up after you and Merry left, leading her; almost before we could thank him he was gone, away over the fields toward the Old Forest." They strolled further. "Then in Hobbiton nothing would do but Mister Gamgee would join us - I think he just wanted to make sure you and Merry were alive and well." Pippin almost smiled, and mused that perhaps he should have stayed to talk to Sam. The idea slid away a moment later, and they walked in silence. Then Diamond spoke again: "Why do you blame yourself for Gerry's death?"

He stopped walking. "What?"

"You have not cried - any fool could see that, and I am not just any fool." She smiled faintly at the trees. "You are thin, pale, silent - very un-Pippin-like. You couldn't even watch them unload his body."

"How do you know?" he burst out. "You couldn't see me!"

She raised one eyebrow, still not looking at him. "But I'm right."

"I should never have consented to let him come!" Pippin cried. "He isn't - he wasn't one of the Guard, he'd no training and no preparation."

"Neither had Dodds," she pointed out. "Neither had I."

"I should have protected him - I should have thought of him."

"Should you?" she said, dropping his arm and turning to face him squarely. "You told me yourself that he'd been instructed to get in or stay in a wagon if something happened, and he didn't. He went charging out so quickly he stepped on me," and she lifted her left hand, showing him the yellowing bruise. "The truth is, he disobeyed what he'd been told to do."

"Do you blame him for his own death?" shouted Pippin.

"Certainly not," she replied hotly. "I place the blame where it belongs - on the heads of those villainous contemptible loathsome malodorous swine. The fault lies not on your head, nor on his, nor on his mother and father for giving him permission to go, Peregrin Took. He is dead and it is awful but it has nothing to do with you!"

"Damn it all!" he yelled into her face.

"Yes, damn it all," she said, not backing down an inch. "Gerry is dead and you are alive. Pray remember that, and be glad, and grieve!"

He changed tacks. "You could have been killed, too, you know, just as easily," he accused.

"But I wasn't," she said. "I'm still here."

"Why aren't you angry at me?" he cried.

"I am angry!" she replied, and indeed her eyes blazed.

"You're angry for all the wrong reasons, Diamond - you could be dead now!"

"As could you, Pippin! Would it be better if I was dead? Were I a corpse you wouldn't have to worry about me!"

"What?" he gasped.

"I could eat a bad mushroom, be thrown from a wagon, killed by a wolf - there could be a plague! There will always be death!"

"You're being ridiculous," he shouted.

"Yes, as ridiculous as you, damn you - stop wasting time, locked up in your selfish blame, locking out your sister and your friends and me!" He turned away and did not reply, and she feared she had gone too far. She stood with fists clenched, looking at his back, at the rigid lines of his body. She could not speak.

Finally he did, and his voice was thick. "You are a rough healer," he said.

She let her breath out in a rush. "I am no healer at all, just a hard-headed shrew with no tact and less sense."

He turned around and she saw that he was weeping at last, nose running, face red as fire. "You're not just any fool," he said as she stepped into his arms.

They stood together for a long time. After a while she gave him back his handkerchief.


	10. The Business of Learning his Business

Gerontius Took was buried in the family plot the next day. Everyone present wept, Peregrin with one arm around Pearl and Tolly. After the wake Diamond hugged Gerry's mother and father, kissed Merry and Pippin on the cheek, curtseyed to Sam and to the Thain, and took her leave of the other survivors of their short journey.

Two days later, Pippin found himself sitting in _The Green Dragon_ again, across from Merry, beside Sam. The room was not crowded - it was a weeknight, and spring planting had many folk in their beds early. Sam was yawning in fact, and he excused himself: "I was up at dawn, you know."

Merry waved it away. "You're just getting old, Samwise," he said.

Sam responded with a sour look. "Just you wait," he said. "Up at dawn to plant, and no sleep before that; Frodo-lad still nurses, and Rose is up and down all the night through. And that's on the nights when Elanor doesn't come climbing into bed with us." He took a long draught of his ale.

"He paints a lovely picture of marriage," said Pippin.

"Doesn't he? I feel as though I should talk to Estella right away," Merry said.

"Ah, don't listen to me," said Sam. "I love being married -- good food, good company; it's nice having someone to come home to." He looked pointedly at Pippin. "I saw you go off talking to Mistress Greenbuckle that day. Anything ever settled about that?"

Pippin looked down. "Not yet. I don't know if it ever will be," he said. "I'm afraid to ask her again."

Merry stared in amazement. "Are you daft? The - you - and the way she - _Pippin_. Don't be stupider than you must."

"What in the world are you trying to say?" asked Pippin, amused in spite of the abuse.

Merry sat up straight, his hands flat on the table in front of him. "Diamond is in love with you. There is no other possible explanation. She looks at you the way Rose looks at Sam. The way I hope Estella looks at me and most certainly the way I hope I look at Estella."

"And what do you mean, 'ask her again'?" said Sam suddenly.

Pippin groaned and lay his head on the table. His shoulders shook and Sam and Merry looked at each other with concern. Sam was about to pat his back when Pippin raised his face and they saw he was laughing. "You two," he gasped. "With friends like these..." and he dissolved into giggles again. They traded helpless grins with one another until Pippin managed to compose himself. "I just had this picture of you two, gossiping over the gate, wearing chintz-patterned aprons like two aunties. I don't know that I should tell you anything."

"You might as well tell us now as later," said Sam. "It's not as though you've any ability _not_ to talk, you know."

Merry laughed, and even Pippin shrugged, admitting the justice of this charge. "All right then," he said. He told them how he'd blurted out his question to her, on the road past Took Bank, and what she'd said - although he necessarily trimmed it, wanting to keep some small measure of privacy. When he finished Sam silently whistled, and Merry grimaced. "So what am I to think, lads?" said Pippin.

"I don't know," said Sam. "She certainly struck me as a strong lady, one who knows her will and has no truck with others telling her different." He had ridden beside her wagon from Hobbiton to the Smials, talking at first to Bill Bracegirdle, and then to Mistress Greenbuckle, once they were introduced by Bill. "But in your case mayhap her will tells her one thing and her heart another."

Merry was not paying attention. "But Pippin, what happened on the journey to Bree changes everything," he broke in, as though already arguing. "She's brave as - as - as a dragon. She may not have known it before, but she must know it now. When those doors opened she was fighting like a good 'un -- if half the Guard fought half as well, you and I would have no job as Captains."

Pippin nodded. "I know! But I don't think she's ever had fear for _herself_ \-- look at her life. She left her family to live with her husband; she challenged all and sundry to try and get him help when he was sick in the Lockholes; she drove her family away when she had the enmity of those awful Men." He could have added, "She asked me to stay with her one night, which took more courage than I shall ever have;" he thought it indeed. He went on: "She's never once feared for herself, never once. It's the people she loves that she fears for." He stopped, aware that he had been speaking too loud, and looked down, and took a drink.

"Still, though," said Merry.

Sam nodded at him. "The trip to Bree, the ruffians... they could change things in your favor as well as against."

"She doesn't look at you like a lady who wishes to dissolve an acquaintance," said Merry.

"I should say not," Sam agreed.

"She is so blessed hard to read," said Pippin.

"There's nothing for it," said Sam. "Once more into the breach, dear friend. You must ask."

"Again," said Merry.

Pippin looked from one to the other. "I suppose you're right," he said. "Cold comfort that is."

Merry patted his hand. "Look at it this way, cousin - what else could you do?"

"True enough."

~*~

Before Pippin could do anything, he decided to move back into Great Smials. In view of that, he went back to - as he thought wryly - warn his family.

"Well, Pippin," said his father, "are you likely to be bringing home a bride any time soon?"

Pippin fidgeted from foot to foot. "I hadn't really worked that through," he said at last.

"Have you _still_ not spoken to the lady in question?" asked the Thain incredulously. He covered his emotion with a cough. "Well, well, I don't mean to pry, son, forgive me."

"There's hardly been much time," said Pippin, stung. "And even if she did consent to an engagement, I doubt she would want to marry soon - she's quite young, you know. Still in her tweens."

"No doubt, no doubt," said Paladin. "Well, then, I suppose your old rooms will do. Go speak to your mother about what you want to keep from your hole off there in the Buckland, and she shall help you clear things and store what's not needed."

Eglantine Took looked sharply at her son, but didn't speak of anything but furniture, linens, and storage. The next day he went with assorted relatives to haul his belongings back to Tuckborough.

His living quarters at the Smials consisted of four generous rooms - a sitting room and small dining area (with hearth, of course), bedroom, and school room. When he was finished the school room was replaced by a spare bedroom and the large, comfortable bed from his hole filled his bedroom. He stood in the sitting room looking out at a soft grey day and considering. "Being the Thain's only son has its privileges," he said aloud. A first-floor room with windows, among others. It felt nice - _Yes, just the word_, he thought - to be back in the comfortable suite; he'd been given it long enough ago that the curved wooden walls were infinitely familiar, down to the scar in the corner where the shutters swung inward to bang against the wall. But slightly bittersweet, as well. He knew that he wouldn't run away this time; he also knew he had unfinished business. He felt still the urge to climb out the window - he'd done so in the past, using the school-room window as such a regular egress that the gardeners left him a little space just below it - but sighed and thought he could wait.

He went to his father. "Put me to work," he said.

~*~

Six days later he wished he'd never volunteered himself. The Thain had given him an office right beside his own, and when Pippin wasn't out working the fields with him, he was sitting in the cramped little space - no windows to tempt him, thank goodness - reading over dusty books and getting acquainted with the endless accounts and doings of his immense family. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his neck, wishing for Diamond's nimble hands.

Diamond. He had sent her a letter - short, courteous, noncommittal. "I know you have much to do for your farm now that it is spring," he'd written, "and my father, long neglected, has many claims to my time as well. Yet I want to see you when he releases me for a time - please send word if that is acceptable." She had replied that although she was occupied, she would see him at any time: "If you will excuse my necessary state of wild busy-ness, I'd be pleased to see you." He read and re-read the words. Trying to gauge her behavior toward himself, he admitted privately that she was not missish or stand-offish. Yet he could not convince himself that she might consent to marry him. When he thought of saying the words once more - "Will you be my wife?" - his throat closed up, _as tight as a Sackville-Baggins's purse_, as he thought wryly. Would she say yes, and kiss him? Or would her face close, grow distant, as he had seen happen again and again? He had no idea, and only one way to find out.

His father poked his head in. "It's near dinner time," he said. "Almost finished with those rolls?"

"Yes, thank goodness. 'Tis dry reading."

Paladin chuckled, a thin, dry sound, and came to stand in the door. "Aye, that it is. But when someone comes to you for a judgment, you must know what's in the books - if you do not, sure as Shiretalk someone else will, and they'll cry to the heavens should you rule against the past. If you know what is there, though, you can always bring a naysayer up short, either by saying 'I go against the judgment made in 1222 by Fortinbras because the custom of our time has changed in this way and that and that,' or by saying 'I make this ruling based on previous custom and usage, as set forth in 1222 by Fortinbras Took.' Either way you've got the words ready to hand and you can cut 'em off at the knees."

"No doubt," said Pippin. He put a slip of paper in the book to mark his place, and stood up. "Assuming I do not die of thirst trying to finish the reading, what you say makes good sense." He stretched high, touching the ceiling in a by-now-habitual gesture, then dropped his arms.

"Well, you've done well getting so far," said Paladin, looking at the stacks of books. "I expect you need a holiday - tomorrow is Sunday after all, take it and do as you please."

Pippin brightened. "Thank you, I shall."

"Just be back by luncheon on Monday. And give our regards to Mistress Greenbuckle," said the Took, withdrawing and leaving his son with the sound of his wheezing laughter.

At dinner Pippin noticed again that Great Smials was a subdued community - every member of the family wore a mourning band on his arm, and Pearl and Tolworth were not seen about. Death of course was a natural part of life, but hobbits tended to die in bed, at ripe old ages; the unexpected, violent death of one of the younger members of the family had shocked everyone extremely. On the other hand, more than one Took had vanished into the wilderness at one time or another - Pippin being merely the most recent and famous example of this adventurous streak, which ran unacknowledged and unencouraged through the quiet Shire folk. "We are subdued," thought Pippin, looking around at his kin, "but the rhythm is coming back into life." Despite the dark colors, there was laughter at the tables.

He rose with the sun the next day and saddled Surefoot. He'd been happy to see her, once he came out of his self-inflicted fog. He knew now that he would have come out of it on his own eventually, but Diamond's hard words had been both useful and needed - like the first cut of the knife, which must needs be swift and deep to make the healing go better. He ran his thumb unconsciously over the small scar on his right hand.

The day was grey but warm, with a high, veiled sky that was bright without showing the sun. He didn't take the main road, but trotted and cantered down little-used paths: through woods and indeed over fields, where they lay fallow or where he could guide the mare's neat feet without harming the greening crops. He ate in the saddle, bread and meat and cheese, and two apples; he slowed Surefoot and sliced a third apple into quarters, feeding them to the mare as they walked through dim woods, noisy with birdsong and squirrel flicker. After that breather they fairly ate up the ground, cantering without pause until he crossed the familiar border of Sprite Hollow, the narrow band of woods opening onto her small field.

Diamond was clearly visible, bent over on the far side of the field. He stopped Surefoot at the edge of the trees to look at her: a small figure, clad in a plain brown skirt, lace cap over braided-back hair. As he watched she knelt there and dug in the dirt, then stood again, long narrow feet planted firmly in the earth, frowning down. He nudged Surefoot with his heels and began walking toward her, careful to keep between the rows of - barley? perhaps - small green shoots, only a few inches high. Halfway there he swung one leg over the mare's back and dropped to the ground.

She straightened and turned to look at him, wiping her hand across her forehead. "Ho, Pippin," she said as he led the pony toward her. The necklace of morning glories glimmered at her throat, the silver incongruous against the plain homespun of her dress.

"Diamond," he said, the familiar stomach flip at work, the familiar silly smile rising.

She looked down at the dirt again and nudged something with her toe - a spade. "So your father gave you a holiday," she said.

"Yes, and it's Sunday, a day of rest as you must know - why are you out here in your field?"

She looked away, across the brown earth. "Weeds wait for no-one," she said. Sure enough, a half-filled basket of uprooted plants rested beside her feet.

"Weeds make weary work," he said persuasively.

"Shall I take a rest?" she asked, smiling a little, her eyes still turned away.

"If you could," said Pippin. "Take me in, and I shall make you a cup of tea."

Surefoot unsaddled and comfortable in the shed, Pippin found instead that Diamond had made him a cup of tea. "You shouldn't have," he said, sitting down across from her at the familiar shining table. He inhaled the kitchen scents of bergamot and chamomile, cinnamon and nutmeg, and smiled at her.

She smiled back for a moment, and looked away again.

"Why do you not meet my eye?" he asked, blunt as only Peregrin could be.

Her smile faltered but stayed; her eyes did not lock on his. "Shall I tell you a story?" she said. "It's one I only remembered a little while ago."

"Yes, of course," said Pippin. His tea sat untasted on the table, as hers did.

She reached up and took off her cap; she began unbinding her hair as she spoke to him. "When I was just a wee child my mother and father and I came to visit at the Smials," she said, and he exclaimed a little. "Yes," she said, gazing out the window, pulling her fingers gently through her hair. "I just remembered it when I was there. We came at Yule one year. I was seven, and you were twelve. I remember you," she added. "My mother said you were a great lad, and I didn't believe her, because you were not as tall as the other boys of your age, and I liked you for it, because I was little for my age, too." Pippin smiled. "But I was too shy to play with you, even though you looked nice. And the visit didn't go well," she continued. Her hair fell long and free now, and she dropped her hands to the table. "Your uncle Ferumbras was still Thain, and he and my father did not get along. I didn't know why then, but of course now I know it was because my father wagered - he wagered far more than he made. And though we were kin, through my mother, your uncle was tired of getting my father out of trouble, and that was why we came, to beg for more help of that kind." Pippin watched her steadily, his hands clasped on the table before him, uncharacteristically still.

She went on. "So after a week we went back to Long Cleeve. My father sold our things slowly, bit by bit, and then he sold our hole and we moved into a smaller one. My mother never said a word about it. When I was nineteen my father died and I went to work, apprentice to Gardenia Weaver." Pippin made some small noise at this - nineteen was so young! Diamond finally looked at him. "I learned the one real skill of my life. And then a year later I met Will Greenbuckle, and a year after that he asked me to marry him and I did, quick as I could." Her clear eyes never wavered from his. "A bit more than a year later, Will died in the Lockholes. And then, well after that, I met you. Again."

"Yes," he said. He wanted to reach for her hand, but refrained with an effort.

"I didn't remember you, of course," she said. "I never remembered going to the Smials at all, until Bill drove the wagon up that road - the times I had visited my cousin Marigold I stayed in Took Bank, I never ventured to Tuckborough, though I knew that I was related in some degree or other to you, as any good hobbit knows her family line." He nodded. "And just now, seeing you ride toward me across the field, I just felt... well, shy, mayhap, remembering the differences in our families and in our upbringings. Yes, perhaps shy is the right word."

Pippin could not restrain the sudden giggle that escaped his lips. "Shy?" He did reach for her hand now. "Never in life, my dear Diamond," he said. "You are many things, but shy?" He shook his head. "I would not have chosen that word."

She regarded him with mistrust. "What things am I, then?" she asked, and there was nothing of the coquette in her voice.

His smile faded. "You are witty," he said. "Quick-tempered in small matters, and slow to anger in great. Proud, and beautiful," she snorted and he had to hold her hand quite tightly to keep it, "and slim and delicate. And earthy and stubborn - stubborn as your goats." She glared at him. "And brave - mayhap as brave as the bravest hobbit I've ever known." He paused. "And frightened. Mayhap the most frightened hobbit I have ever known - next to me."

"You have been into the wine," she said flatly.

"I have not. Diamond, you are frightened."

"Of what am I frightened?" she asked.

"Me."

"You?"

"Me."

Diamond sat stiff across from him, leaf-green eyes blazing away. "Why in the name of all that is sacred and holy should I be afraid of Pippin?" she asked.

He released her hand, but she left it there, lying still upon the table, abandoned. "I misspoke," he said. "You are not afraid _of_ me." He raised one finger to make a point; her gaze shifted for a moment to his finger, as though it might be a snake which would bite her, and then back to his face. "You are afraid _for_ me."

She stood, restless and unable to keep still. "Talk sense."

He leapt from his chair and came around the table toward her. "You are afraid to love me wholly," he said. "All the things you said of me, about Gerry, are true of you, about everything - every time you get close to giving in, loving, you slam your front door closed so hard the china rattles!" He loomed over her, leaning down to speak into her face, but he did not touch her. "You have locked me out."

"Would I speak to you thus - let you speak to me thus - if I had locked you out?" she asked, but she did not stand her ground, she stepped back. He stepped forward and knelt, his face tilted up to hers.

"Diamond," he said, softly, softly. "Do not trap yourself there between love and fear. If you really do not want to marry me, say it and be done." His nose reddened and tears welled up in his eyes. "Because I need to know. It's useless to say I can't live without you. One thing I have learned, and it is that I can live without many things, and live well. But Diamond, I don't want to live without you. Please, will you be my wife?"

"Oh, Pippin," she said, and she sat down in her chair abruptly. "What am I to do?" Her face twisted with the effort of holding in her tears. "I am frightened. I love you so, and I don't want to lose you, through inattention or death, my dear. But I also do not want to marry again - I swore to myself never to marry again. I make a good widow, you know - I can be as solitary as I like, and think whatever wicked thoughts I like, and hide in the goat shed when people I dislike come for tea without writing first." She gave a little laugh that was more like a sob.

"Diamond, you don't have to marry me tomorrow, or next day, or even next Litheday. Just tell me you will someday be my wife, and I will spend the next five years, until you come of age, convincing you it is a wonderful idea, the best idea in the world, the greatest idea since, since, since the loom." Tears ran down his face freely now, and he sniffed mightily, smiling at her.

She shook her head - not to say nay, but because she could not speak - and slid off the chair into his embrace. He sat back so that she was curled in his lap. Her thin, light body shaking in his arms sent a pang through his whole frame, of affection and desire and love so strong he ached with it. He lay his head on her curls and rocked her. "Do you know," he said softly, "I always had protectors - I was the baby of my family, and the baby of my cousins, and the baby of the Fellowship most of all. You of all people do not need a protector, but it is you that finally wakes that instinct in me."

She made no reply, only gulped back her sobs and shook her head. He stopped talking and crooned wordlessly to her until her breathing quieted. "Have you a handkerchief?" she managed to ask at last.

He laughed. "No, of course not," he said. "That day at the Smials was probably the only time in an age that I have actually had one." He looked around, then reached up and plucked a napkin off the table. "Here, use this."

She huddled in his arms and blew her nose. He stopped rocking her and they sat together for a long time on the kitchen floor. She made no move to leave, but sat with her head down, curled into a small ball in his lap.

Finally he shifted and, though still in her lap, her rump hit the floor. "Hey," she mumbled. "I was comfortable."

"My legs were going numb," he said. "I'm perfectly willing to sit here on the stones with you for eternity, if need be, but I'd like to have the use of my limbs when we do get up."

"I'm exhausted," she said. She sniffed again.

"I'm not surprised," he said. He kissed her silky hair and stood, lifting her easily but staggering a little as his abused legs found their footing. He carried her to her bed and laid her down gently on the coverlet. He could see her face now: red, puffy, stained with tears. He sat beside her and smoothed her hair back. She lay quiet, blinking up at him with heavy eyes. He bit his lip, torn between speaking and holding his tongue.

"You might as well say it," she advised, the corner of her mouth twitching. "Whatever it is."

He threw his hands into the air. "Very well." He hemmed and _hmm_ed and fidgeted, and finally met her green eyes with his own. "You never answered my question," he said.

She closed her eyes, and a very, very faint smile crossed her lips. "Ask me again later."

"Diamond!"

"After luncheon," she said.

"Diamond!"

She sat up and took his hand. "Oh, very well."

Pippin looked at her suspiciously. "Very well, you shall answer, or very well, you shall be my wife?" His eyes narrowed.

She leaned forward and took his hand. Staring right into his eyes, she smiled. "Very well."

~*~

The weeds went untended for the rest of the day, and Merry looked curiously at the half-filled basket abandoned beside the gate when he rode up at tea time. He had not been to Sprite Hollow before, and he examined the bright flowers - pansies and daffodils at this season - as he knocked determinedly on the door, firmly quashing his intense sense of discomfort.

He knocked again, and then pounded, and finally heard voices. Diamond answered the door, hair wild, clothes rumpled, freckled cheeks flushed. "Merry!" she exclaimed in surprise, and Pippin popped out from behind the door.

"Ho, Merry!" he said, his hair quite as unkempt. "What brings you so far?" Merry blushed furiously and glared at his friend.

"_You!_" he sputtered. "You ninnyhammer - do you know what a mess you have made?"

Pippin came around to face him. "How?" he asked innocently.

"The _Dwarves!_" roared Merry, and Diamond stepped back, giggling and gesturing for him to come in as he went furiously on. "Nordri and Sudri came to Buckland and everything went swimmingly, swimmingly, and then I rode with them to Tuckborough today and no one knows anything and your cousins ran shrieking and your mother and the aunties went into a tizzy trying to find them beds large enough and your father threw up his hands and invited the Dwarves to the tavern and sent me here." Merry stopped to take a breath. "Why didn't you say anything to your father about their visit?"

"Well, Merry, I, it was, there was just so much..." Pippin stammered, trying to hide his laughter.

Merry looked suspiciously from Pippin to Diamond and back. "Did you _forget?_" he accused.

"I, well, I -"

Merry threw up his hands. "You forgot." He grabbed Pippin's arm. "Where's Surefoot? We have to get you back before your father and those two Dwarves get too far into the ale - we'll never get any bargaining done if that happens." He began pulling the giggling hobbit outside, talking all the while: "Although I don't know why I want you along, you're just as bad and you'll give away trading rights to your grandmother if you've had two flagons of ale -"

"Merry!" cried Diamond.

"What?" asked Merry, dropping Pip's arm and turning to face her.

"Be nice to him," she said, grinning. "He only has five more years of freedom, then he's a married man."

Merry gaped at her. "You mean, you...?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so," she said solemnly, eyes twinkling.

He grabbed her arms and kissed her soundly. "Diamond!" he shouted with delight. "You fool! To marry that Took - well, if anyone can manage him, it's you, my lady." He looked at Pippin, who beamed happily. Merry changed his tone abruptly. "I can take care of everything, no worries. You two just stay here and, and -" He was blushing bright crimson again.

"No, no, take him away," said Diamond, pushing Pippin toward him. She stood on tiptoe to kiss Merry on the cheek and then Pippin on the nose. "I've all the time in the world to make his life a misery - take your turn while you can."


	11. Epilogue

Pippin and Diamond were married one year before she reached her majority - as he said, "There seems little point in waiting longer."

She left Sprite Hollow ("sold to the Boles, more's the pity," said Diamond regretfully, looking back as they rode away) and moved into the Smials. She came to stay in his little suite of rooms, waving off offers of more. "There will be time for that later, when we have children," she said.

Three years later the first of those children came, Faramir - and it was clear immediately that Faramir would be the last child as well. Pippin sat clutching Merry's hand in the outer room as healers and midwives worked to save Diamond. They succeeded, but "No more!" said Ivy the healer sternly to Pippin and Diamond when he was allowed back in to perch nervously on the side of Diamond's bed. She lay exhausted, with little but the strength to nod; Peregrin looked at her shadowed eyes and ashen face and agreed whole-heartedly.

In years to come Sam commented that perhaps it was just as well that Faramir was the only child of the Thain; the lad was as mischievous, trouble-seeking, clever and charming as only a perfect blend of Pippin and Diamond could be. He was spoiled wantonly by every member of the Took and Brandybuck clans, and put soundly into his place by Goldilocks Gamgee, born one year later and his inseparable companion from the day she could crawl.

The little family traveled as much as they could, considering Peregrin's duties as Thain (Paladin died in 1434 SR, surrounded by his family). In 1436 King Elessar and Queen Arwen came to the Brandywine Bridge and met Sam, Pippin, and Merry there, with their families; the hobbits traveled with the royal family to Lake Evendim and remained as Aragorn's guests for two months. Those months lived on in their memories forever after as a shining, set-apart time. Diamond saw all the Elves she could have wished for on that journey and on others, made to Rivendell and Eryn Lasgalen (formerly Mirkwood).

Of Faramir's marriage to Goldilocks and their children; of Diamond's long, slow illness, which had only the virtue of allowing time for goodbyes; of Peregrin's decision to turn over the Thainship to Faramir; of Merry's happy marriage and gentle parting from Estella; of his relieved relinquishing of the title Master of Buckland to his own son; of Sam's parting with Rose and the journey of three to the Grey Havens, succeeded by the return of two, there is little more to say, in these pages.

Only this: That one day two hobbits (small in the eyes of Men but tall for their kind and unbent by their long years) came away from the Shire, riding east and south on the smooth, safe roads of the King. The two dear friends traveled far, singing together, and where that journey ended, there is no one now living who knows.

 

~ The End ~


End file.
